Shelter As We Go
by IrisCandy
Summary: "It's just the stress", she told herself. "It's not real". But when the dark, hooded being haunting Lydia begins to threaten Stiles in order to gain her attention, it's a little harder to ignore it. (Takes place a day after the events of episode 3x06, "Motel California." Lydia's POV. Eventual Stydia.)
1. Out of The Fire

**Author's Note: I got so much positive feedback on my other Stydia story that I'm back with another. This one will probably be pretty darn long, cause that's how it's looking in my head. I'm so excited to write this. I really hope you guys enjoy! :) **

* * *

At first she thought it was Peter Hale, back to torment her. But no. The dark figure that stood in the corner of her bedroom was not a werewolf, a kanima or a human. It was its own species. It was something no one had ever discovered before, she was sure of it. She wanted to scream, to run, to flee. But she couldn't move. As she stared into the grey, molten face of the dark creature, she was frozen in place on her bed, eyes over-brimming with tears and freezing cold. It was as if every bad thing in the world: coldness, fear, darkness...was all wrapped into a six foot tall being that stood, looming in the corner of her room. It didn't move, it didn't speak or breathe. It was silent and still and staring with beady eyes that sent a sharp, icy chill through her entire core.

And she and the dark being stayed like that for the rest of the night.

...

Lydia was looking at the clock. She was never caught looking at the clock, because more often than not, she enjoyed class. She enjoyed the stimulation that science and math brought to her brain, and the blissful distraction of reading a nice, long book.

But today, she couldn't care less about the difference between ionic and covalent bonds. As she propped her head up on her desk, she felt like she had anchors hanging from her eyelids, pulling them down.

She hadn't slept at all last night - not that that was unusual. But this time, it was the fear that coursed through her veins for a full nine hours straight last night that drained her this morning.

_It was as if every bad thing in the world: coldness, fear, darkness...was all wrapped into a six foot tall being that stood, looming in the corner of..._

She sat up straight and shook her head, shaking the thought away. She _must _have been dreaming.

But there was a derisive laughter in her head reminding her of all the things she had seen before, all the things she had been through...but most of all, it was reminding her of the very same dark being she had seen in the fire yesterday after pushing Scott and Stiles out of the way.

The very same one.

As if to save her from drifting just a little further into insanity, the bell rang, and her heart jumped with relief. She wanted to go home and sleep in broad daylight, without the disturbance of something creeping into her room and watching her for nine hours straight. She gathered her books, threw her bag over her shoulder and was the first out of the class.

"Lydia!"

She groaned. She was hoping she could avoid Stiles for today, but he always seemed to catch up with her.

She turned around in the middle of the hallway and watched as Stiles strode over. A year ago, she wouldn't have stopped at all. She would have kept pushing through the crowds of teenagers, grinding her teeth in irritation. But lately, she and Stiles had become refreshingly close, and she actually found herself interested in what he had to say.

But today was s_eriously _not the day.

"Okay, look," Stiles started as he caught up with her. She braced herself for what was to come. "I know I was kind of distracted by having my face pressed into the pavement to be able to see anything, but I _know _you saw something yesterday, Lydia. You saw something in the fire."

Lydia decided that the best thing to do to get out of answering to that statement was to return back to her usual self - the one that wasn't completely sleep-deprived and distraught. She rolled her eyes and turned around, pushing her hair over her shoulder and beginning to walk. Stiles, of course, followed her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Stiles," she said in a weary voice.

"Okay so after everything that happened yesterday, you're still going to keep things from me?" Stiles said, walking beside her almost backwards, trying to look her in the eye.

She was still a little taken aback at how much Stiles' tone has changed with her compared to a year ago. Before, he could hardly pluck up the courage to ask her a simple question in class without offending or annoying her, and now he wasn't afraid of speaking to her in an accusatory and almost _exasperated _voice. In some respects, this was a relief, but in others, it made her feel small. Less powerful than she used to feel.

Of course, that wasn't the only thing that changed in Stiles. He must have saved the lives of four or more people yesterday at the motel, and almost killed himself in the process.

She almost shuddered at the thought. She could hardly remember what was going through her head the moment she saw the flare rolling in slow motion, a split second before igniting the gasoline.

_They're going to die, _she thought. She remembered the surge of panic and adrenaline that seized her. _Stiles is going to die. Right in front of her. _And that was when she bolted, knowing full well she was basically jumping in front of a bullet. But after watching the scene unfold between Stiles and his best friend and the raw _emotion _rarely seen between two people, her mind was boggled and jumbled and all she could think about was saving a boy that she...

One of her friends. She wouldn't let him die an awful death after that. And after everything he had done that night...after everything she and him had been through that night...

"Lydia," said Stiles, still expecting an answer.

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and stopped walking, much to the annoyance of the students around them, making their way to their next class. Stiles stopped just as abruptly, and she looked up at him. He knew she saw something last night, and knowing him, he wouldn't give it up. He must have noticed how completely dazed she was after tackling him to the ground.

"Stiles, I don't know what I saw, okay? I was obviously in a state of shock, and so were you. Can we just forget about it? _Please_?"

There was an expression on Stiles' face that made her uncomfortable. Like he was analyzing her. She had a suspicious feeling like she had seen that look on his face before, but never quite took it into consideration. And then his face morphed into a kind of silent plea, like he really didn't want to drop the subject, but also didn't want to push her too far. Like he wished she would just tell him.

It was an expression that she'd never seen on anyone else's face when they looked at her, and it gave her a warm feeling inside knowing that someone was caring about her feelings.

"I just...listen, if you think you saw something weird, you'll tell me right?"

Stiles, of course, already stated that he knew she saw something in the fire, and yet here he was, trusting her. This was where Lydia had to decide whether she wanted to lie to someone who had become one of her best friends. Someone that, apparently, she was willing to die for.

"I'll tell you."

She silently cursed herself as her voice was just a little too high when she spoke. Maybe most people wouldn't have picked up on it, but there was a spark behind Stiles' eyes that seemed to fizzle out and die as she said the words.

She lied. He knew it.

"Okay," he said, softly and simply.

And then he was gone, but not without giving her the slightest touch on the arm that told her he wasn't angry.

It was odd communicating with Stiles. She had recently found out how intelligent he was. Not as intelligent as her, of course, but intelligent enough to hold a conversation with her that didn't make her want to correct his every sentence (as that was usually the case with most people she spoke to.) When she spoke to him, it was all words and theories about the murders in Beacon Hills or whatever else they were investigating together. But there was also a silent communication that only existed between the two of them. Stiles could send her messages with his eyes, and apparently Lydia could answer them with a quirk of her lips or a blink.

For the life of her, she could not figure out how this strange communication worked, but she didn't mind it.

As she stood in the middle of an empty hallway, suddenly she wished she had told him the truth.


	2. Russian Roulette

She saw nothing, she felt nothing. She was a celestial being, floating in a deep, impossible part of space. The dark figure that came to her in her bedroom now came to her in her subconscious. She couldn't see it, just as she couldn't see her own hands in front of her.

But she knew it was there.

It had no voice, but it spoke in her mind, like an intruder had placed a foreign string of text in her very skull.

_Sweet...smart...small..._

_Lydia Martin..._

_Sweet...smart...small..._

In the back of her mind, there was a chant. The same haunting chant she'd heard from the music teacher's piano. If she had a body, she was sure that another icy chill would have run down her spine at the sound.

_Join us...Lydia..._

_Sweet...smart...small..._

_Join-_

But Lydia woke from the dream before the darkness could finish its sentence. She had a lingering feeling, however, that she had heard more than she could fully remember when she woke.

She could swear she heard more to that last sentence.

_Join-_

_Join..._

_Join us...Lydia...or..._

* * *

It was irritating going to school every morning when she now knew what went on in the real world. Werewolves. Giant lizards. Human sacrifices.

Dark, hooded figures.

And she was forced to keep sane while sitting in a classroom learning about things she already knew. Ridiculous, really.

Her classes were relatively normal and undisturbed all day, and Lydia had at least gotten some sleep last night, even if it was filled with horrifying nightmares and voices. She was relieved, however, when the bell rung for lunch.

_Join us, _she thought as she walked over to her lunch table with her tray. What the hell does that mean? _Join us or_...or what? What did it say? And if it was chanting, does that mean it has something to do with the sacrifices? The druids?

Darach?

She wanted to scream out in frustration. She hated not knowing. She hated sitting by helplessly as she slowly deteriorated once again. She slammed her tray down on the table and sat down, angrily adjusting her bag. Stiles' head snapped up from the papers scattered all over the lunch table, startled. He was the only one at their lunch table today while Scott and Allison dealt with...whatever they dealt with. Scott was still shaken up by his near suicide, obviously, and his vow to keep his grades up wasn't exactly working too well. Lydia suspected they were dealing with the fact that Derek was going to be hunted down by the Alpha pack if he wasn't dead already.

"What?" Stiles asked.

Lydia looked up at him, looking around the room while she feigned ignorance. "What?"

"You have a..." he pointed his finger at his face, "face."

"A face."

"Yes! A face!"

Lydia just rolled her eyes, trying not to think about how she lied to him yesterday. She changed the subject, pointing at the papers on the lunch table. "What are those?"

Stiles seemed to drop the "face" thing rather quickly, looking down at the papers and completely sagging in his seat. "More stuff about the murders. And stuff about Darach. And other stuff about wolfsbane cause it doesn't really make any sense. When you poisoned all of us at your party, the wolfsbane didn't just affect the werewolves, it affected the humans too."

Lydia furrowed her brow. "Who says? They were probably just drunk and stupid."

Stiles seemed to hesitate a little, his eyes taking on a faraway appearance. "No...no,I wasn't drunk."

Judging by the appearance in Stiles' eyes, the wolfsbane must have done something terrible to him. Not to mention, he looked exhausted.

Lydia usually didn't pick up on these things when it came to Stiles, but now she was recognizing the way his hands pushed through his hair like he wanted to rip it out, and the way he sagged in his chair, defeated. She noticed the way he would sometimes get a look of utter panic on his face like the world was coming to an end, but he would quickly steel himself and get back to working on whatever crazy thing he was working on.

"Anyways, what I'm wondering is: why did it affect me at the party but not when Coach blew that goddamn whistle in my face thirty times? Jerk," he grumbled.

Lydia was going to respond with one of her theories when something caught her eye and made her heart sink to her feet.

The darkness. The hooded figure stood in the far corner of the cafeteria, unnoticed to everyone but Lydia. It was staring at her. As she watched, it began to move, which made her sinking heart start pounding, because it never moved before.

It was floating across the floor and past students. She could feel the color draining from her face to the point where she thought she might pass out. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear Stiles calling her name.

It was so close now...coming towards her...

No. No, it wasn't coming towards her.

It was going towards Stiles.

She moved her gaze to Stiles who was saying her name with concern in his eyes, reaching across the table to grab her freezing hand. She just stared at him, her mouth open is horror as the thing moved behind Stiles and Stiles was going to get up and come towards her but Lydia screamed.

"Stiles, don't move! _Don't move!_" Her voice shook and Stiles' eyes widened as he sat back in his chair and stared at her, terrified.

The figure was standing behind him now, but Stiles made no sign that he felt it. It brought its hands up, hovering on either side of Stiles' head. Lydia thought her heart would burst out of her chest. She made a whimpering noise at the back of her throat as Stiles sat still, unknowing but terrified of whatever Lydia was seeing.

And then it spoke in her mind once more.

_Join us...Lydia...or he will pay._

And as if to make its point, the darkness put its cloaked hands on either side of Stiles' head.

Stiles' face drained of all color, as if someone had sucked his blood from his body, and he moved his hand towards his heart like he couldn't breathe. His eyes widened and he was making some coughing, choking noise while the figure just stood, hardly touching him. He pushed his chair backwards just as Lydia bolted up from her chair on instinct and screamed.

"NO! STOP! STOP!"

And it did. It disappeared without a trace...no wisp of smoke or wind. It just disappeared like she had changed the channel on the TV. Gone.

Lydia ran to the other side without hesitation as Stiles gasped and clutched the table in front of him to keep from falling off the chair. His hand was still on his heart and as Lydia skidded to a stop, kneeling beside his chair, he looked down at her with wide eyes and shallow breathing. The color had returned to him, at least.

"Stiles?" Lydia asked, panicked, grabbing the hand that wasn't clutching at his chest. It was absolutely freezing cold and shaking.

Now that her hearing was back to normal, she could hear the abnormal silence in the cafeteria as everyone was looking over at them, mumbling or putting their hand over their mouths or even suppressing laughs. She had no idea what that whole scene must have looked like to them, but for once, she really didn't care.

"What..." Stiles tried to say through his gasps, "Lydia, what...?"

He shook his head, not even comprehending.

"I said I'll tell you, Stiles. I'll tell you. We have to get out of here," she whispered, trying not to cry.

Stiles looked over at her, absolute panic in his eyes. They were communicating in that strange way again. Lydia tried her best to tell him it was okay, that she would explain, even if that was the complete opposite of what she was feeling. This wasn't okay. She was beginning a game of Russian roulette with his life and who knew what she would have to do to make it end?

But Stiles nodded and stood up, still holding the table for a moment before running a hand through his hair again. He began to walk with her, leaving his papers and her lunch behind. She stood by his side, as she didn't know what the darkness had done to him and she didn't know whether he would fall over or not.

They moved through the cafeteria doors just as the kids began chattering again.

Lydia and Stiles made their way outside the school and into Stiles' jeep before anyone had the chance to ask questions.

Stiles seemed to be back to normal as he closed the driver side door, though his hands still shook. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white while Lydia shrank back into her seat, taking a deep calming breath.

Stiles snapped his gaze towards Lydia, but Lydia didn't look at him. Her brain was reeling. How could she _join them_? What did that _mean?_

"Lydia," Stiles said. She had expected his voice to be firm and harsh, but it was soft and comforting. She closed her eyes for a moment before turning her head to speak to him.

"It was the same thing I saw in the fire. A dark shape, like a man in a cloak with a hood on, but the face was just...not human. And after the fire it was in my dreams and just now in the cafeteria it grabbed you and it said-"

She stopped. This was too much. She couldn't tell him what they said. It would worry him and it could put his life further in jeopardy but also, she couldn't explain it. Why would the dark figure choose Stiles' life as a bargaining chip to get her to _join them? _Why not her parents or Allison or even _Jackson_ for that matter?

Deep down, she may have known the answer to that question, but she dare not let it surface.

"Lydia, what did it say?" Stiles pressed, inclining his body in his seat so that he was closer to her.

She looked him straight in his eyes. Warm, golden brown eyes. They were so honest and so good-hearted, it made Lydia's heart surge in her chest. She can't keep lying to him.

"Look, whatever it is, you're not gonna deal with it alone, okay? So you might as well tell me," he reasoned. His voice was still soft as ever as they sat in the silence of the jeep.

Lydia put a hand over her eyes and sighed, leaning back in her seat. "They said they were going to make you _pay _if I don't _join them_. Don't ask me what that means, because I really don't know."

Before Stiles could say anything, she removed her hand from her eyes and sat up again, hoping to get her message across. "But this is _my _problem, Stiles. I'm the only one that can see it, and I'm the only one who can stop it." She hesitated before saying the next part, but decided it needed to be said. Her voice was a whisper now. "And I'm not going to let it hurt you again."

She had expected the words to feel odd coming out of her mouth when they were directed at Stiles, but instead they felt normal and right. She felt no awkwardness or crooked air around them. Somehow, it had become a completely natural thing to sit in Stiles' jeep and assure herself that he'd be safe.

She guessed that ever since the fire - that one split second of absolute terror and dread that stole her when she thought he would die -, Stiles' safety had taken a special little place in her heart. She never, ever, _ever _wanted to feel that way again.

Stiles was looking at her, and he didn't look scared or confused like she had expected. In fact, there was kind of proud awe in his eyes and a quirk to his lips that he seemed to be trying to hide.

"What?" Lydia asked, self-conscious.

"What? No, nothing, I just..." he sat back in his seat so that he was looking out the windshield, the small smile still on his face."Seriously, I had totally convinced myself that you couldn't get any more perfect but then suddenly you've got this wonder woman side to you and...sorry." He looked back at her, sheepish. It seems Stiles' crush for Lydia seeped through his mental filter for a moment, and he was currently trying to put it away again.

She was annoyed when she felt heat rise in her face, but she was just about to tell him it was okay when he perked up again.

"But, seriously, though: if we're kicking dark omen ass, then we're doing it together."

Lydia opened her mouth to retort, but Stiles sat up straighter and spoke clearer, cutting off her thought process. "You just told me that some creepy _thing_ in a cape is out to get me personally, and I'm still going to help you, so there really is _nothing _you can say to make me back off."

For once, Lydia didn't know what to say. He had a point; he knew the stakes now, and he experienced firsthand whatever god awful power the darkness held inside itself, yet he was still offering to help.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to look defeated. "Fine," she breathed nonchalantly, looking out her window.

In the corner of her eye, she could see him smile as he started the ignition, and she had to suppress her own.


	3. Candles

**Author's Note: Okay, so this chapter is a little creepy. But, you will probably all understand what the plot will be for the rest of the story by the end of this chapter. I'm totally spewing this out of my brain as I go along so I hope it's okay and you all enjoy. My God, your support makes my heart soar. Thank you so much to all of you!**

* * *

The next day - a Saturday, thank God - Lydia's plans were foiled due to Scott requiring urgent use of Dr Deaton's vet office. She and Stiles were going to meet there, and that's where they would have gotten down to business, figuring out everything there was to know about this dark being traumatizing Lydia.

So they moved their meet to Stiles' house. Stiles had assured her that his Dad was on duty that night, and they would have the whole place to themselves.

Lydia allowed her mom to drive her to Stiles' in the morning on her way to the airport. Lydia could hardly keep track of her parents' lives anymore, what with everything else going on in her life, but apparently her Mom was going on a "girl's week" vacation to sight-see in Vancouver.

How quaint. Lydia would just stay here in Beacon Hills and solve her life-threatening supernatural problems while her Mom went "sight-seeing" in Canada and her Dad had BBQ parties by the pool.

She had to hold back a bitter laugh as she leaned her head against the car window. If only her parents _knew..._

But they can't know. That was something she decided from the get-go, and that would never change.

"Have fun, okay, sweetie? I'll see you next week," her mom said, thinking she was going over to Stiles' to eat food and study.

As they stopped in front of Stiles' house, her mother reached over and stroked Lydia's face. Lydia couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia for the life she used to have before all of this. Her mother's touch on her face was always comforting; no matter how much she tried to deny it.

But she just nodded, gave her mom a quick smile, and stepped from the car.

Stiles answered the door immediately after the first knock, like he was waiting there for minutes or hours before. Lydia had to hold back an eye-roll. Typical Stiles.

"Hey," he said casually, moving to let her into the house.

She wasted no time, as she was eager to get started. Her anxiety was getting worse by the day.

"I had a breakthrough," Lydia said, and she began moving towards the kitchen like this was her own house. Stiles followed, and they moved through the kitchen until they were both stationed at the small, circular table in the dining room. The light in the room was dim and yellow and there was no natural light coming through the curtained windows.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Lydia asked, sitting down at one end of the table.

Stiles sat down at the other and shrugged. "I hate opening the curtains when it's all crappy outside. It's depressing."

Lydia didn't understand how the dim artificial light was any less depressing, but Stiles was already moving on to a different subject. "So, you had a breakthrough?"

"Right. So," Lydia shifted in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. "In my dream, I noticed something. It was like it was in the back of my mind, but I'm sure I heard it. It was the same chanting that came from the music teacher's piano and it got me thinking about the druids and the sacrifices and...I think whatever this thing is...I think it's the Darach."

"Well, that's great then!"

Lydia gave him an incredulous look. "_How _is that great?"

"If we know what it is, all we have to do is find a kind of..." Stiles paused, his hands flailing as he tried to think of the right word. "Like a summoning ritual and bring it here, and then maybe it will actually let us have a conversation with it and we can find out what the hell it wants."

Lydia's face hadn't changed as she spoke. "Stiles, you do realize how insane that sounds, right? And not to mention stupid. I mean, a _summoning ritual? Where _are we going to find that? And even if we did, it would probably just kill us."

Stiles shook his head. "No, it wouldn't. Lydia, it _wants _something from you. That's why it never threatened to kill you, because it needs you. And - assuming that you don't really want me dead - it won't kill me either, because it needs the leverage."

Before Lydia could really process the things he was saying, she could feel a little stab of hurt at Stiles' words.

_Assuming that you don't really want me dead... _

Is that really what Stiles thought of their relationship? Did he think she was so cold-hearted that she wouldn't care if he died? Even after the fire? Did he really think so low of himself around her that he wouldn't even be _surprised _if she let him die?

She shook the thought, knowing she was over thinking his usually exaggerated words.

Stiles was awaiting her reply, searching her face from across the table. There was a question rattling in Lydia's brain that she so badly wanted to ask out of curiosity, but also out of fear.

"What is it?" Stiles asked. Of course, he could sense she had a question on the tip of her tongue.

Lydia sighed. "What did it feel like? When it touched you?"

Stiles seemed taken aback by the question for a moment, but not for long. He frowned in thought and cleared his throat before speaking. "I guess it was...kind of like being dunked into a bucket of ice - and I'm talking, cold enough to burn your skin - and then having your lungs ripped out of your chest."

Lydia could feel the blood drain from her face, and when Stiles looked up from the table, his eyes widened in horror.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, Lydia," he said, leaning forward as if he was hesitant to run around the table and hug her. "I'm so sorry. That was so morbid," he said putting a hand on his forehead.

"Stiles, it's okay," Lydia said firmly. The thought was disturbing, of course, but she was the one who asked in the first place. Stiles looked like he wanted to punch himself in the face and she didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or hug him.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because it's not going to happen to you. Seriously, over my dead body," Stiles said, and he gave a short bitter laugh. Lydia was a little ill at ease by the resolve that hardened on Stiles face as he leaned back in his chair, like he was plotting murder.

Lydia couldn't quite comprehend the lengths that Stiles would go to protect her and that scared her, especially when it was his life that was on the line instead of her own.

* * *

They found a summoning ritual.

Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy as just pulling up Google and searching up ancient druid summoning spells. They needed the help of Deaton, and though he was hesitant to summon a dark druid, he obliged, because he knew the two teens were as capable as anything after everything they'd been through.

When they had finished setting up whatever they needed, it was midnight, and Stiles and Lydia were alone on the lacrosse field. It may not have brought the most pleasant memories back to Lydia, but it was the most appropriate place. They needed to be outdoors, surrounded by some kind of nature (the forest in this case) and uninterrupted. No one ever came to the lacrosse field at night, and if they did, Deaton was on guard, ready to shoo away any trespassers with a clever cover story that he told neither Lydia nor Stiles.

The lacrosse field was dark, but the moon gave enough light to show the ominous outlines of the trees that surrounded it, and the faint shadows of the bleachers. There were small candles in a circle around them, and Lydia could see the dim yellow light flickering against Stiles' face as he squinted down at the paper in his hands.

"We seriously have to read this? Out loud?" Stiles said, uncomfortable.

"No, _I'm _going to read it because unlike you, I can actually understand Latin. It's a language, Stiles, it's not gibberish."

"Sure as hell sounds like gibberish. _Veni semp..._uh, _ tene...bris_?" He turned the paper in his hands as if it would be easier to read upside down."Yeah, I have no idea what I'm saying," he said finally, defeated. He handed the paper to Lydia and she grabbed it, rolling her eyes.

"Okay," Lydia said softly, taking a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

Suddenly the air around them got a whole lot heavier, weighing them down. Stiles' words from earlier on still rang in her mind, assuring her that the Darach wouldn't harm them.

_Lydia, it _wants_ something from you. _Yes, but what? What did it want?

Stiles said nothing; just looked down at the grass beneath their feet, a solemn look on his face. He nodded.

"Alright, all we have to do is burn the mistletoe before we read the incantation, and then it should just...show up. Right?" Lydia asked. For once, she was uncertain about something.

She was scared.

"Yeah, uh...I mean_, yeah_, but we don't know if _I'll _be able to see it, right?" Stiles said.

"Right. But if that's the case, I'll let you know where it is. I told you...I won't let it hurt you." Lydia said.

She hoped she could keep that promise.

Stiles looked about ready to say something else, but Lydia cut him off. "Burn the mistletoe."

From the corner of her eye, she could see Stiles looking at her, his mouth moving silently like he couldn't find his words. She didn't acknowledge him, but not because she didn't want to. It was because she was afraid for him. She was afraid that they would hurt him again.

She was afraid they would kill him.

Eventually, he stumbled forward and crouched by a candle, pulling the plant from his pocket and slowly putting it over the flame. Lydia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the refreshing air of the night and trying to calm her racing heart.

She began reading the paper in her hand. _"Attende verba mea, et visita me, Dómine Darach. Veni, ut sempiternis tenebris, perpetua glacier. Tibi fides adhibenda. Attende verba mea, et visita me-" _

Her voice caught in her throat from fear and she spoke the last two words in a whisper. "Dómine Darach."

Lydia didn't know what she was expecting to happen. Her eyes darted around the field wildly, looking for mist or fog or some kind of supernatural force. She could feel goosebumps rise on her arms and she hugged herself, crumpling the paper in her fist. Finally, her eyes rested on Stiles' back as he remained crouched over the candle.

Stiles was slowly getting up from his position on the ground. Very slowly.

Lydia couldn't tell what gave it away. Maybe her senses were sharper than most. Maybe she had a special connection with the Darach that allowed her to _feel _its presence. Maybe she knew Stiles a lot better than she let on, and even the way he stood up was an idiosyncrasy.

"Stiles?" she asked quietly.

But the person in front of her was no longer Stiles. She knew it even before he turned around and stared at her with vacant eyes.

"Stiles?" he parroted, cocking his head to one side. "Stiles?"

Lydia could feel her eyes widening, and she took a step backwards on impulse.

"Stiles?" he said once more, and the voice sounded like him but it _wasn't _him. It was contorted and twisted with an evil that she'd never heard come out of a person's mouth before.

She didn't like the way the flames reflected in his eyes. They glinted like a yellow diamond at the bottom of a dark, wet abyss.

"You-" she cleared her throat, gathering her courage. "You're the Darach?"

"Darach," Stiles said, and Lydia took one more step back as his chest jolted a bit and he cocked his head to the other side as if he was confused.

And then his chest jolted once more and blood spewed out of his mouth, dripping down his shirt. Lydia made a horrified sound and took just one more step back before she felt heat on her leg and knew it was almost pressed to one of the candles.

Stiles looked up and dragged the sleeve of his sweater across his mouth. He grinned, and there was blood coating his teeth. Lydia's stomach jolted and she felt as if she would throw up.

"Lydia Martin," Stiles said, still grinning.

Usually, when Stiles said her name, it was a special sound, full of admiration and passion and concern. Now this _thing _was using his body to speak her name, and it didn't sound right at all. She felt as if she was being mocked and disgraced.

He walked forward, and somehow Lydia stayed in place. She remembered what she came here to do.

"_Join us_," she said, her voice louder now. "I want to know what that means."

But the Darach seemed to be making its own little world in Stiles head. He rolled his neck and looked at the sky, smiling all the while. Slowly, he brought his hand up towards his face and grazed his fingers over his cheek and the blood on his lips.

"Mmm..." it said. "Nice one, this one."

"Answer the question," Lydia growled, more angry than scared now.

"He doesn't like me very much though. Seems to be trying to _spit _me out," Stiles said, and once more he spat up blood, more than the last time. Lydia's heart jolted as she realized that the Darach was destroying Stiles from the inside.

She picked up the pace, moving her feet forwards.

"You need something from me," she said.

"Yes," it said, "Sacrifice."

Lydia frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Sacrifice...Lydia Martin, we love _sacrifice." _

"And if I give you sacrifice, you'll leave me and Stiles alone," she said, more of a statement than a question.

"Mmm...yes, of course," he said, and then he laughed and it sent a disgusting chill down Lydia's spine.

It didn't belong in Stiles. Sweet, harmless Stiles who would never in a million years laugh in Lydia's face so derisively

He spat up more blood that sent him into a coughing fit and Lydia could feel her hands beginning to tremble. She balled them into fists.

"Alright, so tell me what I need to do! Tell me what you want!" she said, panicked.

She hated this cruel manipulation. She'd been manipulated too many times before by Jackson. By Peter. She didn't want to bring Stiles into this.

The coughing fit stopped abruptly and he stood up straight, looking down at Lydia. The flames lit up his face and for a moment she could see the kindness that used to be there before the Darach entered his body and she'd never before longed for Stiles Stilinski more than she did in that moment.

"Haven't you been listening...mmm...Lydia? We want sacrifice. Join us, and sacrifice. The Darach's ritual is completed when a pure soul kills another. Lydia...sweet, smart, small..._pure._ Join us and sacrifice."

Stiles - no, _the Darach _- stepped forward and wiped Stiles blood down Lydia's cheek. Her stomach jolted as she stared into the dark, soulless eyes that didn't belong.

"You want safety. And so, join us, Lydia, and kill another. Join us, and sacrifice another's life. Join us and save...mmm...and save precious _Stiles_."


	4. Faith & Friends

"You want safety. And so, join us, Lydia, and kill another. Join us, and sacrifice another's life to save...mmm...and save precious _Stiles_."

And that was the last the Darach said before it seemed to disappear from Stiles' body. Suddenly, life returned to Stiles and for a split second, Lydia stared into his wide brown eyes while his bloody hand was frozen on her cheek.

Dr. Deaton must have watched from his car as Stiles collapsed. His shadowy figure was running across the lacrosse field as Lydia snapped out of her shocked state and went to kneel by Stiles' side. Her hands hovered over his still form, shaking. Her brain wasn't functioning properly. She couldn't process what the Darach had said and she didn't know what to do about Stiles who was starting to cough up blood once again, eyes screwed shut in pain. She knew first aid; she knew what to do, why couldn't she-

"Put him on his side!" Dr. Deaton said as he entered the circle of candles, breathless.

Lydia did as he said and rolled Stiles onto his side so he wouldn't choke on his own blood and Deaton kneeled down and took his pulse while Lydia just sat there, frozen and trembling and in utter denial of what the Darach truly wanted her to do. She grabbed Stiles' hand to comfort him and to steady herself as her head whirled and spun.

"What's wrong with him?" she said, barely above a whisper.

"What happened?" Deaton asked urgently, looking up from Stiles but still holding his shoulder as he coughed and sputtered.

"I- he- he was possessed! It was inside him!" Lydia stammered, as if this was news to her.

"He's reacting badly," Dr Deaton said, as if Stiles just ate some bad sushi.

There was a puddle - no, a _pool_ - of blood on the ground before Stiles finally calmed down. He wasn't unconscious, as he sighed and screwed his eyes closed tighter as he rolled back on his back.

Lydia put her hand on his head, absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair. "Stiles?"

For a second, she was afraid he would mimic her again like the Darach was back inside of him.

But he opened his eyes, and they were as warm and kind as they always were, if a little disoriented. He seemed to be trying to focus them on Lydia's face, reaching up to hold on to some part of her.

A wave of guilt and dread washed over her suddenly, threatening to drown her. She'd told him she wouldn't let it hurt him and she had no idea how she would uphold that promise in the first place, but she broke it. She broke her promise.

And now that she knew that she could never fulfill the Darach's wishes, she would probably break her promise again.

"We should get him back to the clinic. Scott should be out of there by now," Dr. Deaton said.

Lydia nodded, keeping her eyes on Stiles'.

She and Deaton managed to lift Stiles with minimal help from Stiles himself and throw one arm around each of their shoulders, helping him walk in between them. Lydia thought her knees would turn to jelly from the shock of everything that happened that night, but they managed to get Stiles into the back of Deaton's car where he sat with his eyes closed.

Lydia wished he would say something and she could hear his voice - his_ own _voice - again.

* * *

"Now, I'm just a veterinarian, but I'm certain that this is mostly supernatural damage. Not anything a hospital can fix," Deaton said, leaning against a table in his vet's clinic.

Stiles sat on the cold metal table in the middle of the room after Deaton had done tests to see if he was alright. Stiles was fully conscious now, if a bit solemn, and he hadn't coughed up anymore blood. Lydia was leaning against the doorframe, not really wanting to enter the room.

"What do you mean _supernatural damage_?" Lydia demanded. "Where did all the blood come from? It must have torn something internally-"

"It's alright, Lydia. He'll be fine. I just mean that everybody's body is their own. They're not built to contain that much evil, especially someone who doesn't have much evil in him to begin with," he gave a pointed look at Stiles. "At first I thought he was having a bad reaction, but now that I think about it, it seems his body was just trying to rid itself of the Darach. Trying to spit it out, in a sense."

Lydia gave a small shudder. Deaton had just used almost the exact words of the Darach. _He doesn't like me very much though. Seems to be trying to spit me out._

"Look, I'm okay, Lydia, I promise. I think what we really need to worry about is what the Darach said. What it wants you to do," Stiles spoke up from his spot on the table. Lydia came to realize over the past year or so that Stiles really doesn't like the focus to be on him. It's always about other people with him. It's always about others' protection and safety.

"You heard what it said?" Lydia whispered, looking over at Stiles. That thought sent a jolt of horror through her.

"Every word," he said simply, looking her in the eye.

Stiles was back to normal, but just for a second Lydia would like to see the kindness return to his eyes. They had been angry and empty ever since they arrived at the vet's office. The anger wasn't directed at her, of course, but nevertheless, she felt more guilt build up inside her as she looked at him.

Dr. Deaton cleared his throat as Stiles and Lydia snapped their gazes from one another. "You said that the Darach mentioned you being pure, correct?"

"Yes, but why me? I'm sure there are plenty of people in Beacon Hills who are a hell of a lot _purer _than I am."

Dr. Deaton looked about to answer, but Stiles beat him to it. "She's right. Like in the sixth grade, she actually made three girls transfer schools cause she was so mean to them."

Lydia glared at him, but she also had to suppress a smile. There. _That _was more like Stiles.

"Alright, Lydia, all we know is that when the Darach looks at you, it sees purity. Innocence. It would do anything to get a chance to corrupt that, and it's no secret that the best way to corrupt someone's soul is to get them to kill another," said Deaton.

"Wait, but it said join _us_, didn't it? There has to be more than one," Stiles added.

"Of course. The darachs - the druids that have gone bad - work in groups just as the druids did. But there's always a leader. I guess they're a little similar to werewolves in that respect," Dr. Deaton explained.

Lydia was about to interrupt the silence to explain that she was _not _going to kill anyone, when Stiles seemed to speak up for her.

"Well, anyways, there has to be another way to stop this. No one is _corrupting_ Lydia's _soul_," said Stiles hopping off the table.

"We'll figure something out soon, Stiles," Dr. Deaton said softly.

Stiles, seemingly exhausted and not wanting to argue, just nodded. Maybe he had more faith in Dr. Deaton than Lydia did, because all she heard were empty words.

"Hey, Stiles, can you go start the jeep? I'll catch up," Lydia said, turning to him as he made his way over to her.

Stiles' gaze shifted between Dr. Deaton and Lydia. He wasn't stupid. He knew she was going to have a private word with Dr. Deaton about him, but again, he just nodded and did what he was he was told. The moment she heard him leave the building, she rushed over to Dr. Deaton.

"Soon isn't good enough. It threatened Stiles, and it's not afraid to act on that threat," Lydia said urgently.

"Have a little faith, Lydia," Dr. Deaton said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

That was it. That was the advice Dr. Deaton had to offer, no matter how hard Lydia pressed and how much she insisted that Stiles would get hurt more often and more severely the longer they waited. That was it.

* * *

"Lydia," Allison hissed.

Lydia was tapping her foot and chewing on her pencil as she sat in the library the day after the summoning. She could swear there was a crick in her neck from how many times she had to glance at Stiles sitting two tables away behind her.

"Lydia," Allison said again, louder this time.

"Hmm?" Lydia said, moving her gaze away from Stiles and back to Allison.

"Are you okay? You seem...on edge," she said.

Lydia pulled an innocent look. "On edge?"

And Allison just pointed at Stiles and Scott with her pencil, a knowing smile on her face.

"What?" Lydia asked defensively.

What she wasn't going to tell Allison was that she was afraid that at any moment she would see Stiles gasping for breath or coughing up blood or some other variety of impending doom that plagued her mind. Not only that, but a small part of her really wanted to watch as Stiles talked animatedly with Scott and smiled and laughed because she had such a lack of that the day before. She could see that Stiles wasn't exactly worry-free, but time with his best friend seemed to cheer him up tenfold.

"Lydia, you're spending more time with _him_ than you are with _me_. You know, you can tell me if you guys have a thing because I thought it was cute from the beginning-"

"Allison! No! Ew!" Lydia hissed, trying to bring up an outraged expression on her face.

Lydia expected Allison to smirk again, but instead her face melted into a more serious, almost pitying look. Her voice took on a hushed tone. "Lydia, I saw how you saved him from the fire. Him _and _Scott. Do you realize how incredible you were?"

"It was just the adrenaline, Allison. I'm sure you would have done the same," Lydia said dismissively. She looked down at her textbook, pretending to read.

"But I didn't, did I?"

Lydia bit the inside of her cheek, but she still didn't look up at Allison. Eventually, Allison went back to her reading with a shake of her head and Lydia went back to her Stiles-initiated paranoia.

Her phone buzzed, startling her. Allison gave her one more perplexed look at her jumpiness, but she ignored her, pulling out her phone. It was Stiles.

_Deaton's got something. And he says we're not gonna like it. _

Lydia whipped her head around and Stiles was already gathering up his bag, looking at her while he did it. He nudged his head towards the door subtly and then began talking hurriedly to Scott, obviously creating a cover story.

"Listen, Allison, I'm not feeling very well. Do you think you could take notes for me in bio?" Lydia asked with a smile, starting to get up from the table.

"Yeah, sure, is everything okay?" Allison asked.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just a migraine," she was already making her way across the library when she called back, "thanks!"

Stiles pretended not to notice when she walked out into the hallway and waited for a good minute before following her out. They began walking immediately.

"_We're not gonna like it? _What's that supposed to mean?" Lydia asks as they march side-by-side towards the school's exit.

"Listen, I've told Scott and I'll tell you: the guy freaks me out. He's all cryptic and mysterious-" Stiles gave an exaggerated shudder.

Suddenly Stiles stopped dead in the hallway and Lydia stopped with him, raising an eyebrow.

"Wait, does he freak _you _out?" Stiles asked, his brow furrowed.

Lydia put a hand on her hip, rolling her eyes. "I've woken up to Peter Hale in my _bed _and I've had a giant paralysis-inducing lizard as a boyfriend and you're asking me if I'm afraid of some sketchy vet?"

Stiles slumped, irritated. "I was just-" he sighed. "I was just asking because of that weird psychic thing you've got going on. You know, sensing the supernatural? Absent-mindedly finding bodies in random places-"

She scoffed and began walking again.

He was quick to catch up. "Look, Lydia, I'm sorry. I just think that maybe this..._ability_ or whateverthat you have could be useful in picking out the bad guys in all of this."

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't want to _talk _about this _ability_ that I have. And by the way, I didn't _absent-mindedly_ find that body."

"Lydia you were in a friggin fugue state-"

She put up a finger, cutting him off. "A fugue state is a type of transient amnesia characterized by loss of memories and/or identity. I was perfectly aware that I was driving and I didn't lose time. I just...didn't know where I was going or..._why_."

Lydia could feel Stiles' skeptical gaze beating into her and she snapped. "Stiles, I don't have a fucking psychiatric disorder, okay?"

And with that, she sped up and pushed the school door open, hoping that it would slam back in Stiles' face and knock some sense into him.

She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	5. Heartbeat

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry this chapter is so short, but I really needed a chapter purely for explaining the "plan." Plus, I added a little moment in there that I'm hoping you'll all enjoy. :) I'm trying to think of this story as an actual episode to make it as detailed and entertaining as possible. If there's anything that you don't understand about Stiles and Lydia's plan, please let me know in the reviews, and I'll clarify in my next Author's Note (cause I know this chapter may be all over the place. I had a lot of trouble writing it.) THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT!**

* * *

Deception. That was the plan.

They were going to deceive the Darach into thinking that Lydia committed murder, and they needed four things to create this deception: Lydia, Stiles, magical drugs and a dead body.

Simple, really.

"So, what, we're just going to abuse some random corps to make this happen?" Stiles asked, uncrossing his arms and looking more uncomfortable than he did only seconds ago. He and Lydia were standing side by side, looking at Dr. Deaton across the metal examination table in the vet's office.

"It's better than having to kill someone or _get _killed, Stiles," Lydia said quietly, though the idea of stealing a body made her sick to her stomach.

"We'll need a body as proof that a life was taken, and we'll need a living being in order to convince the Darach that it was by Lydia's hand," Dr. Deaton explained. "That's where you come in, Stiles."

Dr. Deaton lifted a finger and began moving around the vet's office, pulling something from a drawer. He opened a jar to reveal a small vial of black, viscous liquid inside. "This. This is what you'll drink when the time comes, and it will slow your heart rate down to nothing, really. But you won't be dead. At least, not for the first few minutes."

"Kinda like that stuff in Romeo and Juliette?" Stiles asked.

Lydia looked up at him with eyebrows raised, impressed. Sometimes it was hard to keep in mind that Stiles was _smart _and of course he would have actually _read_ Shakespeare in freshman year, unlike every other guy she's met. It was nice being around someone who was at least somewhat closeto her intelligence level.

"Exactly. Although, I can't promise your sleep will be particularly pleasant, Stiles," Dr. Deaton said solemnly.

"Of course," he muttered, taking a deep breath. He mumbled something else, but it was so quiet, Dr. Deaton didn't seem to hear it. Lydia, however, was sure he said "when is it ever?", and her heart clenched in sympathy. If there was anyone who knew how hard sleep could be, it was Lydia.

Although, who knew what haunted Stiles' mind? Ironically, he was becoming more and more of a mystery to her as they became closer. He was no longer this spastic kid who she knew to have a silly crush on her. The Stiles she knew now was so much more complex than that - a tightly knitted anomaly that Lydia found herself so badly wanting to unravel.

She swallowed, looking away from him and back to Deaton. "I don't understand how temporarily killing _Stiles_ is going to convince the Darach that the body we take is the person I killed."

Deaton lifts a finger again, and rummages through his drawers only to pull out yet another vial with a red and suspiciously blood-like liquid sloshing around inside. He put it in Lydia's hand.

"Jesus, what _don't _you have a potion for?" Stiles asked, his mouth hanging open. Suddenly, his head snapped up and his eyes went wide with excitement. "You don't have something that could make me fly for a day, do you? I've always wanted to fly."

Lydia glared at him and Dr. Deaton was staring at him with a look that suggested that he couldn't tell if Stiles was serious or not. Stiles seemed to falter under their gazes, and he covered his mouth with his hand so his voice was muffled when he said, "Carry on."

"We've established that the Darach has a connection with you, Lydia," Dr. Deaton said, and Lydia wanted to cringe. She really didn't much like having all these _connections _with evil supernatural beings. "The vial in your hands has the power to block that connection for a while. It - in simple terms - creates a wall around your mind. A sort of-"

"Barrier," Lydia said softly, examining the vial in her hand.

"Exactly. Like a type of medicine, it fights off an infection, but-"

"It's an infection of the mind. A psychological aberration," Lydia interjected again, looking up at the vet.

Dr. Deaton looked impressed. He smiled, nodding. "Yes. Yes, exactly. This sort of technology is unknown to the druids and the darachs, and so the Darach that has the connection with you will have absolutely no idea why its access to you is blocked. It won't question you. Now, when you're about to complete your supposed murder, you'll summon the Darach so it's in close vicinity to you as you're watching your victim die."

Lydia and Stiles stared at the vet with identical wide eyes, and he smiled.

"Let me show you," Dr. Deaton said, making his way around the table. He took his place beside Lydia and put a comforting hand on her upper back while Stiles turned to face them. "Put your hand on his heart."

Lydia looked at Deaton, hesitant. He nodded encouragingly. Lydia then looked up at Stiles whose eyes were narrowed in confusion as he stared at the vet. He looked just as awkward as she felt.

But Dr. Deaton was looking at her expectantly, and so she lifted her hand slowly and placed it on his chest, right over his heart.

"Do you feel that? A steady beat," Dr. Deaton said softly, almost a whisper.

Lydia couldn't understand the intimacy of this moment, but as she looked into Stiles' eyes, she could feel heat crawling up her neck. She could feel his heart beat right under her fingertips despite his sweater and she didn't quite know why that made her breathing faster. The fabric under her hand was so soft and warm and comforting.

Lydia could see Stiles' throat working like he was having trouble swallowing, and she could swear the heart under her hand was beating just a little faster as each second passed, mimicking her own.

"_This _is what will happen. There will be just enough leeway in the connection for the Darach to feel what you are feeling. It will feel a heartbeat coming to a still underneath your own hand, but it won't see _whose _heartbeat," Dr. Deaton explained to them in a mystical voice like he was reading a fairytale to children. The feeling of his hand on her back was non-existent, like the single heartbeat under her hand was taking over her nerves.

Dr. Deaton removed his hand from Lydia's back and it took her a moment to realize she could take her hand away. When she did, the two teenagers turned away from each other, Stiles clearing his throat while Lydia adjusted her purse on her shoulder.

Suddenly she missed the feeling of his heartbeat under her hand. It had been so long since she'd ever touched anyone like that.

"Any questions?" Deaton asked.

"Yeah, is this...safe? I mean, they don't look particularly appetizing..." Stiles mused.

"You're right, I should probably just kill someone instead, considering the magic potion doesn't look _appetizing," _Lydia said, rolling her eyes. She was hoping that her sarcasm could extinguish the feeling of sudden loneliness that washed over her.

"So, I drink my potion and we summon the Darach. Stiles drinks his and I keep my hand on his heart as he..."dies." Once the potion wears off, we will have moved Stiles out of the way and replaced him with the body that we stole, and the Darach will have no choice but to believe that the person in front of me is the person I killed," Lydia clarified, watching Dr. Deaton nod as she spoke. "But there's one thing I don't understand. The Darach will leave me and Stiles alone, but who are we to say that it won't come back to kill some more?"

Deaton sighed. "I don't think it's your responsibility to worry about that now, Lydia."

"But-" Lydia started, but Stiles cut her off.

"Can we please just concentrate on one thing at a time here?" Stiles said, looking at her almost pleadingly, and Lydia - whose brain was already whirling - decided to let it drop.

She shoved her vial in her purse. Stiles followed suit shortly after, snatching his vial from the table and placing it in the pocket of his jeans.

"I'm ready," Lydia said, trying to mask her fear with steely determination.

"Stiles?" Dr. Deaton asked, obviously wanting to make sure Stiles was okay with the plan too. A thought flashed through Lydia's mind and apparently she knew Stiles well enough to know that even if he was completely uncomfortable with this plan, he'd do it anyways.

He ran his tongue over his lips once and his fingers seemed to be a little twitchy, but he answered in a strong, clear voice. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready."

"Well, then," Dr. Deaton said in a loud voice. "Time to steal a body."

* * *

**Author's Note: Needless to say that next chapter, shit's gonna get real. **


	6. Dead Dress Up

**Author's Note: This chapter is really freaking long. I hope you guys don't mind, though. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your reviews. I'd hug you all if I could, but for now, you'll just have to believe me when I tell you that this chapter came right from the heart where I store all my love for you guys :') Okay, I'm gonna stop before this literally becomes the cheesiest author's note on the planet. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Well, this is disturbingly familiar," Stiles said as he and Lydia rounded the corner of the hospital and stood in front of the door to the morgue.

Lydia looked up at him with her brow furrowed. "Familiar? When's the last time you broke into a morgue?"

"Not me. Scott. I was just keeping watch while he went to sniff Laura Hale's bottom half and then I saw you sitting over there but you were on your Bluetooth and- never mind," he cut off quickly, turning to the door. Lydia raised her eyebrows at his back, still caught up on the part about Scott _sniffing Laura Hale's bottom half_, but she shook off the thought with a roll of her eyes. Werewolves.

Stiles tested the doorknob and he visibly fist pumped the air when he saw that it was open. Lydia cursed him under her breath for his complete lack of discretion and looked around to see if anyone noticed, but anyone who was in this hallway had their noses in clipboards or otherwise didn't care.

"Okay, it's open," Stiles said casually as he turned around.

Lydia just stared at the doorknob.

"Lydia?" Stiles asked.

But Lydia was frozen in place because, yes, the door being unlocked saved them the trouble of having to explain to Melissa McCall why - or a convincing cover story of why - they so desperately needed to get into the morgue. But on the other hand, it also meant the plan was in motion, and Lydia found herself overwhelmed with the truth of what they were about to do. She had taken a stronger red potion of Dr. Deaton's earlier that day - which, by the way, wasn't appetizing _at all_ - which would mask her plans from the Darach, but not from the humans around her.

"Come on, Lydia, you can't back out now. Not now," Stiles said desperately, lightly touching her bicep. His hand was so big and warm, and it pissed her off so much that it pulled her from her thoughts. Why is he always so comforting and heartwarming like a goddamn overgrown hyperactive teddy bear _all the fucking time_? When did that happen? And how was she supposed to concentrate on anything with his hand on her like that?

She shrugged him off and gripped the handles of the wheelchair she had wheeled through the hospital. "Yes, I'm ready, just do it."

Stiles nodded determinedly and looked around with his hand on the doorknob, but no one was there. It was deserted. So he pushed open the heavy door and held it open while Lydia quickly wheeled the chair into the room. He shut the door with his face pinched tight, obviously not wanting to make any noise.

"Okay. Alright. Um," Stiles attempted to speak, but failed, because his whole body slouched and his face morphed into one of disgust. "Oh God. Oh God, this is _so _wrong. This is _so wrong, _Lydia."

Lydia waved her hands for him to shut up and he did so, his mouth hanging open and his chest heaving.

Lydia let go of the wheelchair and put her hand on her hip, feigning bravery. "Okay, one? You have to stop repeating things for emphasis because it's getting on my nerves. And two, I know it's wrong, but I'd rather steal the body of somebody who's already dead than kill someone, okay? Just keep that in mind."

And with that, Lydia got to work, making her way around the room to find a John or Jane Doe. They'd decided that if they were going to take a body, it should be one that is unidentified and unclaimed.

"Please, please, _please_," Lydia begged softly, because she really didn't want to have to take the body of someone with a name.

_They're dead, Lydia. _She reminded herself. _They don't care._

But that was a naive argument because every single body in here must have _family_. A real, grieving family who would be traumatized and - god forbid - _hopeful_ for the rest of their lives thinking that their precious cousin or sister or son actually got up and walked away.

"Here," Stiles said dryly. She spun and saw him looking down at a chamber solemnly. As Lydia approached, she could see _Jane Doe _on the label. There was no POLICE EVIDENCE label on the chamber, so that was a good thing, at least.

Stiles took a deep breath beside her and let it out shakily before pulling open the door to the chamber, muttering something along the lines of _please don't be a kid, please don't be a kid. _

And it wasn't, because as Stiles' pulled away the top of the cover, they saw the cold, dead face of an old woman. At least 70 years old, with thin grey hair and deep wrinkles, mostly around her mouth. She must have smiled a lot.

Lydia shook it off and looked up at Stiles, who was looking down at the woman with his mouth in a tight line and sad eyes.

"God, I really hate death," he said softly.

Lydia just looked at him. Good old Stiles who looked like he was about to shed a tear for this woman he'd never met in his life. But maybe it was something more than that.

"Yeah," she agreed in a whisper. After a few seconds of silence too heavy to have been placed on the shoulders of teenagers, Stiles inhaled sharply. "Okay. Could you...? You know, dress her?" he asked.

Lydia sighed. Of course, it was probably more decent and respectful if a girl were to dress this old woman than a teenage boy.

Not that there was anything at all respectful about this whole situation.

Lydia nodded once and Stiles shoved a hospital gown in her hands, turning away to go fiddle with the wheelchair and prepare their props.

She was going to have nightmares for the rest of her life after sliding the gown over this woman's cold, dead skin and pinning it up like she was a doll. How could _anybody _do this for a living? Go to work every day just to simultaneously try to restore dignity to and strip away the dignity of a dead person by dressing them up for funerals. In this case, however, she and Stiles were going to wheel the woman out in a hospital gown, pretending to be young people taking their sweet old grandma out for a stroll.

"Okay, done," Lydia said finally, and Stiles made his way over and hesitantly began to pick the woman up. One arm under her knees and the other across her upper back, Lydia watched the muscles in his arms ripple and the look of disgust on his face as he carried her over to the wheelchair and set her down none too gently.

"Stiles!" she hissed.

"I'm sorry! She's heavy," Stiles' said, and he looked honest to god guilty, so Lydia dropped it.

Lydia and Stiles got to work putting a sunhat on the woman - they had brought all sorts of hats and caps, since they didn't know what kind of person they would be bringing out of the hospital - and sunglasses. The woman was very pale, and Lydia's heart lurched. Someone would notice. Someone would question the pallor of this woman and would stop them in their tracks.

But they had other problems, because someone had just arrived outside the morgue door. They saw his blurry figure through the distorted window in the door. His voice was muffled as he spoke to someone they couldn't see, and judging by his position, his hand was on the doorknob.

"Fuck," Stiles said in a harsh whisper.

"You told Deaton to keep watch around the corner, right?" Lydia said, turning a fiery glare towards him.

"Yes!" Stiles said.

There was nowhere to hide. _Nowhere_. If that guy walked in, they were in oh-so-much trouble that Lydia could hardly breathe thinking about it. Her heart thumped in her chest, threatening to escape her body and making her feel lightheaded.

They crouched behind the woman's wheelchair - not that that would help them at all - and Lydia felt a chill down her spine as she accidentally brushed her hand against the Jane Doe's cold arm. She flinched away from her and then felt Stiles' familiar warm hand suddenly around her waist and pulling her towards him. She leaned into him as they huddled behind the chair, keeping their eyes on the figure through the window.

There was an excruciatingly long moment with only the sounds of the man's muffled talking and the two teenagers' synchronized breathing. Stiles ducked his head, leaning it against the back of the wheelchair with his eyes screwed shut. Despite their seriously terrifying situation, Lydia found herself wondering about Stiles' religious standing. Was he praying? Did he ever pray?

And then the man was gone. He took his hand off the knob and drifted down the hallway, obviously caught up in something else now. Lydia briefly wondered if Deaton had anything to do with that, or if it was just dumb luck.

As her heart slowed down, she let out a breath that turned into a breathy laugh. Relief flooded her body, leaving her bones feeling like lead. She moved her head to look up at Stiles who laughed nervously with Lydia, his hand still hugging her to him. It never struck Lydia how much of a height difference there was between her and Stiles, and she found herself having to crane her neck to look up at him as they crouched together.

Just as Lydia was beginning to become painfully aware of his breath in her hair and her hand on his thigh, Stiles untangled himself from her, clearing his throat. "Uh, we should probably get going."

"Yeah," Lydia said, nodding and clearing her throat as well. The two got up and took another mournful look at the woman in the chair, who was now propped up and accessorized to look like a sick grandmother going for a detour. The hat and sunglasses helped cover her lifeless expression, and the knit blanket over her legs helped give the impression that she was old and cold.

"_So_ wrong," Stiles whispered.

"_Stiles,_" Lydia said in warning that she was about to slap him.

"Yes, okay. Go out and see if anyone's there," Stiles said, pushing the woman towards the door.

Lydia looked through the window and gazed down the hall as far as her eyes would let her. No one was there, and so she cautiously stepped out of the morgue. There was no one around. Not even a peep. She opened the door for him as he pushed the woman out into the hall, and the pallor of her skin was even more shocking in the bright lights of the hospital hallway.

They had to keep moving. They had to make it to an exit and into the Jeep before anyone got a good look at the body. And so they wasted no time chitchatting.

Stiles pushed the wheelchair at a speed that no Grandma would find pleasurable. They passed an intersection where Deaton was standing around looking awkward but not suspicious, and he gave them a wide eyed look as they passed. Lydia and Stiles nodded, but continued on their way. They were to make no contact with Dr. Deaton just yet, as they had to get the body out of the building as quickly as possible.

Stiles continued pushing at this speed until they reached another intersection in the hall where someone in a white lab coat was making their way towards them. He smoothly slowed down and just to add to the act, Lydia bent over the chair and smiled at the dead woman as they walked. They continued like this until they were passed the intersection and the man continued walking the opposite way, paying no attention to them.

"I feel like I'm playing a really screwed up game of Frogger," Stiles muttered as he sped up, keeping a hand on the woman's shoulder so she didn't fall forward.

"Or Pacman," Lydia offered thoughtfully, catching up to him.

"You play Pacman?" Stiles asked, looking overjoyed.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "_Everyone's_ played Pacman, idiot."

There was a pause before Lydia added, "I'm just considerably better at it than most people."

Stiles grinned and they walked down a never ending hallway and were only disturbed twice more without any conflict. Lydia had just started to think about how she could not _believe _their luck, when they turned a corner and none other than Melissa McCall was walking towards them wearing those awful green nurse scrubs.

"Yeah, thanks, Paul!" she called behind her shoulder, smiling. Currently, she was too busy looking at her feet to notice Lydia and Stiles, but that wouldn't last for very long.

Stiles and Lydia made a series of squeaking noises and gestures, and Lydia smacked Stiles on the arm repeatedly while he mouthed "go go go" frantically, waving his hand to turn them around. Stiles had only turned the wheelchair around halfway when it was too late.

"Stiles?" Melissa called, suddenly only roughly 15 feet away from them.

Stiles' face scrunched up and his whole body seemed to tense beside her. He could not have portrayed the words _we are so fucked _better. Lydia's heart was sinking in defeat, and though she was glad it was Scott's mom and not anyone else, she wasn't so sure how understanding the nurse would be when she saw-

"Who's that?" Melissa asked, nodding her head toward the wheelchair. She was smiling pleasantly like she had had a good day and would love to meet the old person in the chair.

But Stiles wasn't even trying to make a cover story as Melissa was now two feet away from them and turning to look at the woman in the chair. Lydia watched the show as she frowned, and then took a step back, and then widened her eyes in horror. Her mouth dropped open as she looked up at Stiles and Lydia, her eyes darting back and forth between them.

"Is she...? Stiles, did you...?"

"Look, okay, please don't freak out, I can explain-" Stiles started, raising his hands in an appeasing gesture.

"Oh my God," Melissa said out loud, but her voice dropped to a panicked whisper immediately. "Oh my _God!_"

"Shh, shh! Can we please have this conversation somewhere else? Hide us somewhere," Stiles said.

Melissa, who looked absolutely dumbstruck, seemed to finally realize that they were completely out in the open and momentarily calmed down.

"Okay. In here, go in here, we'll use Kay's office," she said, running three doors down and taking a key from her pocket, shoving it in the hole. She opened the door and waved her arms frantically for them to go in, so Stiles was practically tripping over his feet trying to push the woman's wheelchair in the room.

When they piled into the small office, Melissa immediately locked the door behind them and leaned against it, looking considerably paler than she did before.

"Why do you have a key to someone else's office?" Lydia asked, genuinely curious.

Melissa looked incredulous. "How about we address the fact that you're wheeling a _dead woman_ around the hospital," she cried, though she whispered the words "dead" and "woman."

She turned to Stiles' first, her hands on her hips. That didn't surprise Lydia. After all those years of Stiles hanging around her son, it must have become habitual to immediately assume everything was Stiles' idea.

Stiles put his hands over his face and made a groaning noise. He looked like he would like to claw his flesh off and crawl under a rock for the rest of his life than try to explain this to Melissa, and Lydia couldn't help but feel the same way.

But Melissa wasn't backing down, and she was giving the dead woman a sideways glance like she was about to jump up from her wheelchair and start riverdancing at any moment.

"You can't tell Scott about any of this," Stiles started.

"You mean he doesn't know? This doesn't have to do with werewolves? Or giant lizards or whatever else is going on in this godforsaken town-"

"No, Ms. McCall. This is worse," Lydia said solemnly.

Melissa took a deep breath. "Great. Talk. Both of you."

Stiles sighed and shared a look with Lydia.

_We have to; _he seemed to say with his eyes. So Lydia responded with a look that she hoped conveyed the words _I know. It's okay. _She must have delivered the message, because Stiles turned to Melissa and sighed once more.

"We need a body as a sacrifice to whatever is killing all of these people," he said simply.

Okay, there were a couple hundred details left out of that. But hopefully it would be enough to make Melissa drop it and let them be on their way.

The nurse crossed her arms and shook her head. "Why? Why you? And couldn't Scott help with this?"

"It's a really long story, but I'm a kind of target for the thing whose been doing all of these sacrifices. It's my responsibility, not Scott's or anyone else's. Although, dumbass over here just so happened to get involved," Lydia said, throwing a pointed look at Stiles. Obviously, this wasn't exactly the truth, but it was paving the way.

"Oh, honey, I know you think you have to protect your friends but you don't have to do it alone. You could have perfectly capable help at your side. Scott and Derek and Isaac..." Melissa said, looking at Lydia like she wanted to hug her.

Lydia felt a mixture of annoyance that Melissa thought she couldn't take care of herself, but also appreciation for her caring about her at all. In fact - as random and absurd as this thought was -, Lydia was reminded of the same caring look that Sheriff Stilinski always seemed to give her, and for a moment, she couldn't help but think how cute he and Melissa would be together.

Typical Lydia Martin, playing matchmaker while in the process of explaining to her werewolf friend's mother why she needed to get a dead body out of the building.

"Oh, we're not alone. We have an adult helping us, and some other people that you haven't met. We're in good hands and we just didn't want Scott to get involved. He's got enough on his plate right now," Lydia lied.

"Look, Melissa, we're okay. Really. Once we get the body out of the hospital, it'll be a kind of peace offering. We'll be fine," Stiles lied.

"Stiles-"

"Please, just drop it," Stiles was begging now.

"I can't just drop it-!"

"_Please_, Mom!"

It took every person in the room a few moments to process what Stiles had just said, but one by one, they did. Melissa's whole body seemed to grow taller when she heard the word, and there was a mix of surprise and something that looked a lot like pride in her kind eyes. Lydia found her own eyes downcast, feeling like she was intruding on a personal moment between the two. Stiles took a step back and put a hand on the back of his neck, his mouth hanging open. He immediately began shaking his head slowly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"No, no. It's okay," Melissa said earnestly. She seemed conflicted, like she knew that calling someone _mom _was a common slip up, but she also felt something different in the exchange, like it was less of a slip of the tongue and more of an unveiling. Lydia could see in the woman's eyes that she wanted to believe the latter.

Lydia wasn't very familiar with the motion of losing a loved one, but she was certain that it probably wasn't easy to make the mistake of calling someone Mom when you haven't used the word in a while.

Stiles, on the other hand, looked completely uncomfortable with what he'd just said, and was rubbing the back of his neck and upper back convulsively and looking anywhere but at the two other people in the room, and so Melissa changed the subject whilst trying to hide a flattered smile.

"Listen, both of you. I won't tell Scott. I won't tell anyone. But _you _are going to keep me updated on whatever this thing is that you're doing and you're going to let me know that you're safe and you cannot keep me in the dark on this, do you understand?"

The two nodded.

"And I want you to give me the contact information of the adult whose helping you," Melissa demanded.

"Oh, you already have his contact information. It's Dr. Deaton," Lydia said, nonchalant.

Melissa looked nonplussed. "Dr De- Scott's boss? He knows about all this..._werewolf_ stuff too?"

"You have no _idea_ what this guy knows about," Stiles said.

Melissa stared at them for a long moment before shaking her head, but eventually she began unlocking the office door again. "Okay. Well, I'll help you get her out of here," she said, nodding towards Jane Doe.

Lydia felt bad for Ms. McCall. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her to go to sleep every night knowing that her son was out there fighting unimaginable beasts and bleeding for his friends. She couldn't imagine what it was like to feel somewhat responsible for a kid who was only dragged into this dangerous mess by becoming friends with her son. She couldn't understand how the unveiling of her son's true identity didn't leave her crying and panicking in a corner for the rest of her life.

Maybe that's just how truly overwhelming and horrifying love can be. And Lydia longed for it. She longed for it, and God did she fear it.

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**Author's Note: So, I can't remember if Melissa ever found out that Deaton knows about the supernatural world, but for the sake of the story, she didn't yet. Until now. Anyways, I really wanted to include Mama McCall in this, cause she is a joy to write and one of my favorite Mom characters on television. (Plus, I totally agree with Lydia. She should date Papa Stilinski right the hell now.) Let me know what you guys thought of this chapter, and I can't wait to get writing on the next one! **


	7. Good Deed Gone Bad

**Author's Note: So, first, can I just thank Hans Zimmer for creating the song "Time" for the Inception score? Because it was on repeat throughout the entire writing of this chapter. It makes everything 100x more beautiful and epic. And second, thank you all so much for your kind reviews. I really do appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to write such kind things. You keep me going! Anyways, here's another chapter for you all. I hope you enjoy it!**

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They had successfully wheeled Jane Doe out into the parking lot and into the back seat of the Jeep. They'd covered her with a blanket and Stiles drove very carefully so as to not draw attention from any sort of authority and get pulled over. Lydia had felt exposed and anxious the entire time, her palms irritatingly sweaty.

The plan was working well. Way too well. They had timed it perfectly, as the sun was going down just as they were driving to their destination and it would be nice and dark once they arrived. They had seriously managed to sneak a dead body from a hospital morgue without being caught by anyone but the one woman who could help them. The potion Lydia drank earlier that day was wearing off, and she didn't know how she knew that, but she did. Just in time to drink another dose and temporarily kill Stiles.

They were on a small dirt road with trees on either side, and the sun was shining through the tops of the trees as it slowly sunk towards the horizon. Lydia always loved this time of day, when the sun made everything glow yellow and you could see the small specks of dust floating in the rays. But as they drove, she felt betrayed by it. How could the world look so nice when they were doing something so horrible?

She must have sighed, or gave some sort of sign of her discomfort, because soon Stiles was slowing down the car and pulling over to the side of the road. Lydia turned to him with a puzzled expression.

"What? Why are you stopping?" she asked.

Stiles sighed. "Lydia, I can practically _smell _your anxiety."

Lydia rolled her eyes and looked away from him. "Yes, well, Stiles, we are about to perform a ritual sacrifice."

"We've done worse!" he said, shrugging overdramatically.

"When?" Lydia challenged, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips in his direction.

Stiles was quick to respond. He rolled his eyes and stared out the windshield, the orange rays of the sun lighting up his face. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe that time you raised Derek's homicidal uncle from the dead, in which the collateral damage was _extremely_ traumatizing for _everybody _involved, thank you very much. Or, maybe that time where me and Scott kidnapped Jackson and chained him up in a _stolen_ police van-"

"When did that happen?" Lydia asked, frowning.

"Remember that restraining order he filed against us?"

"Ah," Lydia said thoughtfully, nodding her head.

"Yeah. So that happened. Minor offense though, obviously," Stiles said sarcastically.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Okay, I don't see how that's worse than sacrificing this poor dead woman. You were only trying to save people by locking Jackson up."

"You don't think we're saving people right now?" Stiles asked. He was looking at her with that penetrating look that made her feel like he was inside her head. She looked away.

"Lydia, we're saving loads of people right now - and ourselves - by trying to _appease_ this thing once and for all," Stiles continued.

For once, she didn't know what to say. She was so conflicted because she knew he was right but she had such a bad feeling in her stomach that she was ready to grab the steering wheel and turn them around.

"Hey," Stiles said quietly, touching her arm lightly to get her to look at him.

She could have groaned upon seeing the way the light made his eyes glow gold and how his hair was somehow still flawless after all the shit they went through that day. He was leaning close enough that Lydia could count the little moles scattered across his cheek and down his neck. She ground her teeth together to remind herself _not _to let her eyes flit up and down from his eyes to his lips and just concentrate on what he was saying. What was he saying?

"Hm?" Lydia said, raising her eyebrows. "What? Sorry."

Stiles gave her a half-smile and furrowed his brow a little, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "I just said that everything will be fine. It will work out."

How was there so much reassurance in his voice? How could he possibly think this would turn out okay? Couldn't he feel the crushing sense of foreboding about the entire plan? Couldn't he feel it getting colder as they approached their destination?

But again, his voice was so calming as always and she nodded jerkily, but answered with less confidence in her voice than she would have liked."Okay."

He took his hand away from her arm and started the car again, and they drove in silence until the sky was a navy blue and the stars were just starting to peek in the gaps between the clouds.

They reached the graveyard with a crunch of gravel under the Jeep's tires and when Stiles cut the engine, the silence was almost overwhelming.

"Why did we choose to come here again?" Stiles asked. He knew the answer to that question, but Lydia knew he was only trying to break the tension in the air.

"No one's been buried here for years. We won't be disturbed."

Stiles sighed. "Right. You should probably take another dose of that stuff now," he said, nodding to her purse.

She gave another shaky nod and took out the bottle, downing the liquid in one swallow. She grimaced, but shook it off, trying to rid her mouth of the acrid taste. She stared out at the windshield for a while, trying to calm her heart. They were staring at an incredibly clichéd creepy gate, through which were dozens of shadowy outlines of gravestones. They were just past the borderline between Beacon Hills and another small town.

"Are you ready?" Lydia asked quietly, not looking away from the gate.

"Yeah, I think so. You?" Stiles asked.

"Um hm," she said, but it sounded more like a whimper than a response.

"Okay," Stiles said under his breath, reaching for the door handle and hopping out of the car in one swift movement. Lydia closed her eyes and sent some kind of silent prayer to anyone who was listening, willing everything to be okay. Stiles opened her door for her and she stepped out on legs filled with lead.

The gate screeched and moaned as Stiles pulled it open, and he scrunched up his face at the earsplitting noise. There was no one for miles, but it was so quiet on this tiny gravel road that it seemed like it could be heard from the other side of the world. Lydia rolled her eyes out of habit, like the creaking of the gate was all Stiles' fault and he should have taken better care of it.

The process of moving the body from the car through the gate wasn't all too hard with their combining muscle power, but it was disturbing having to grab this old woman's cold dead calves. Although, Stiles was the one who had to stare into her face as he grabbed her by the armpits, so she couldn't really complain could she?

Stiles mumbled various curse words as they moved through gravestones and tried not to notice how incredibly creepy the crumbling headstones were in the ghostly light of the moon.

"Here. Here's good," Stiles said finally as they reached a small clearing between two headstones. Lydia had the strange sensation that they were walking on the beach looking for a nice place to set down their towels, and suddenly she longed to be her seven year old self again who went to the ocean every weekend with her parents.

Jesus, when did she become so nostalgic? And was it really the time to be thinking about these things? She could have slapped herself in the face.

They set down the body.

"Lydia," Stiles said flatly, and she snapped her gaze towards him. "You gonna set out the candles?"

"Oh," Lydia exclaimed. "Yeah."

She could feel the potion creating that barrier in her head like it had at the morgue, blocking out the Darach's view of her.

_There will be just enough leeway in the connection for the Darach to feel what you are feeling._

Yeah, well, her sporadic pulse and sweating palms were probably legitimate enough to convince the Darach that she was about to murder someone.

Lydia set up the candles in a circle like the one on the lacrosse field, and then stared down at the old woman on the grass. Her heart jumped at the sight, like it was screaming protest, and she felt light-headed.

"Lydia, I swear to God I would do this if I could, but you have to do it. The Darach has to feel you do it-"

"I know, I know," Lydia snapped. She swallowed the lump in her throat and her urge to scream and cry and run away. The weight of the kitchen knife in her bag became excruciating. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand and stepped back, looking up at Stiles from across the candlelit circle. She could feel a sob coming on.

Stiles looked helpless. His hands were balled into fists like he was restraining himself from coming over and comforting her, but she really wished he would. But he couldn't, because they had to do this. They had to do it soon before the last of the potion wore off and their chances were lost.

"Lydia..." he said, his voice strained and quiet. Desperate.

Lydia closed her eyes and took her hand away from her mouth, taking a deep, shaky breath. "I'm fine. Get ready."

Stiles looked hesitant still, but he nodded, and he took his bottle from his pocket.

"You have to go far away. _Far _away. I'll get to you in time, but you have to be away from the Darach," Lydia said forcefully, her mouth dry.

He nodded again and he looked like he was about to say something else, but he closed his mouth with one last look at the woman on the ground, and then he ran.

Lydia got to work right away, kneeling by the body and grabbing the kitchen knife from her bag. Her breath was hitching in her throat as she raised it high above the woman's diaphragm. She had to make it look like she had killed the woman, and that's what she would do.

Her hands shook like a pair of leaves and she just wanted to scream because she didn't have _time _to tremble and cry and cower. This woman was dead. She was doing no harm. This was the right thing to do to _save _everyone.

To save Stiles.

"You feel that, you son of a bitch?" she said quietly. She'd never scared herself before, but the anger flooding her veins shook her voice and made her knuckles white as she gripped the knife between her hands. She took a deep breath, and ground her teeth together.

"I hope you enjoy your _sacrifice_."

And on that very last venomous word, she plunged the knife into the woman. She felt metal break through skin and plow through blood and organs with a sickening sound and she didn't want to think about how _good _it felt to push all of her anger towards everyone and everything into one single stab wound to a woman she never knew. She wanted to do it again. She wanted to scream so loud and collapse onto the ground for the rest of her life staring at what she's done and what it represented and think about the absolute shithole her life has turned into. She felt so sick, but so powerful and the mix sent disgust rushing through her core, and she relaxed the death grip on the knife she'd never touch again.

Stiles. She had to get to Stiles.

She didn't look back at the woman and she didn't allow herself to collapse against a headstone and heave until she puked up whatever this _feeling _was. She had to get to Stiles.

She took off her shoes mid-run, tossing them behind her until she was barefoot and the tears in her eyes blurred her vision as she ran. She saw him sitting against a headstone and she skid to a stop, kneeling in front of him.

"Okay," she said, her voice thick. "Stiles?"

"Do it...quick," he said, and it sounded like it took a lot of effort to say the words. He grabbed her arm when she didn't respond and jammed it on to his chest and she tried to catch her breath, moving closer to him until she was practically on top of him, taking deep breaths to concentrate on the heartbeat beneath her palm. It was quickened and thready, like it was hanging on for dear life but it didn't know how.

She stared into his eyes and began to recite what she had memorized. "_Attende verba mea, et visita me, Dómine Darach. Veni, ut sempiternis tenebris, perpetua glacier. Tibi fides adhibenda. Attende verba mea, et visita me, Dómine Darach." _

Stiles closed his eyes, leaning his head against the headstone. His heart was slowing. He breathed out sporadically in shallow breaths and she put her free hand on his face to calm him down. She was straddling his legs, making sure she could be as close as possible to him.

His hand flew up towards his face suddenly, gripping her wrist. He was making pained noises and trying to breathe as the heart beneath her palm faded and jumped at random points.

"Stiles, it's okay. You'll be fine, remember?" Lydia said desperately, because for some reason she didn't believe it. Deaton said he'd be fine. She should believe that too.

But she didn't. Why didn't she?

The urge to sob was almost too much and she leaned the side of her face into his collarbone, keeping her hand firmly on his chest. Stiles' breath was hitching and she squeezed her eyes shut and wished that everything would just be okay now.

She could feel the Darach. She could feel it coming and it wouldn't be able to possess Stiles this time because Stiles wasn't in good enough shape to be possessed, now was he? The barrier in her head was still intact, she could feel it. Though it was starting to wear off.

Perfect timing once again.

Stiles shuddered beneath her and she gripped on to him tighter. His heart was slow now. Very slow.

"Lydia..." he gasped, and she looked up as he tried to hold on to her wrist. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to die. To feel your heart slowing in your chest, unaware of what was to come when it finally stopped. Stiles' eyes were filled with pure and unadulterated fear and a single tear fell down his cheek. She didn't know how she could make herself closer to him because she just...she didn't know what to do and Stiles was taking panicked breaths until they were hardly there at all, his lungs failing him like his heart. His barely-existent heartbeat was taking over her senses, and she knew the Darach could feel it. A heart fading beneath her palm.

And then it was nothing.

It wasn't there anymore, and the light faded from Stiles' eyes and he was so very dead that she really couldn't believe he was going to come back.

"Stiles?" she asked, because suddenly she didn't want to do this anymore. She wanted him to come back now.

"Stiles?" she sobbed, panicked. Her tears were flowing freely now. Her barrier was breaking. She had to get back to the candlelit circle before the Darach knew she what she was up to, but she didn't want to leave him. She didn't like this.

She was still clutching his chest but there was nothing there and the feeling seemed to carve out her body until she was hollow. She'd never felt this before. It was overwhelming her and she really didn't think she could make it back to that circle.

It was here. The Darach was here somewhere and it was almost through her barrier. It could see her through distorted glass.

She took a shuddering breath and sobbed once more before pressing a kiss to Stiles' forehead and leaving his limp body behind as her bare feet pounded against the grass and she ran back to the circle, wanting nothing more than to collapse in on herself and cry and cry until Stiles came back and looked at her with that same love and concern and adoration in his eyes that she never properly noticed.

She came to a stop in the middle of the candlelit circle and fell to her knees beside the woman with the knife in her chest and the long-dead face.

She could feel the Darach in her peripheral vision, forming into its same black, hooded shape as the barrier in her mind tumbled down and the potion wore off.

"Come on," she whispered. She was so past being scared. She hated leaving Stiles alone out there - because he wasn't dead forever, he couldn't be dead forever - and she wanted the Darach to leave them both alone and leave the world alone _forever. _

_"Lydia..." _it said, like its breath was in her ear.

"I'm here," she said. "I have your sacrifice."

She looked around wildly, trying to spot the molten face in the darkness. But it was behind her. She could feel it there now, breathing against her neck. She crawled away from it to the other side of the body and stood up until she was looking right at it.

It was just standing there, staring down at the body with gleaming white eyes.

"Take it," Lydia said, but her voice was too quiet. She tried again, louder this time. "Take it!"

It looked up at her and tilted its grossly head at her. She still couldn't completely see its face because of the hood it wore, and she was thankful for that.

"Lydia, get down!" someone yelled. It was a familiar voice, but her blood ran cold upon hearing it. She swirled around and saw Allison, crouching behind a headstone and firing an arrow just as Lydia ducked down to the ground. The arrow flew above her head and hit the Darach in the stomach. It made a horrible screeching noise.

"Allison, don't! Stop!" Lydia screamed, pulling herself up into a kneeling position.

But the girl wasn't listening to her as she fired more arrows into the thing.

Two fully formed werewolves came out of the darkness of the graveyard, and Lydia widened her eyes. Scott and Isaac lunged at the Darach, and it screeched even louder as they sunk their teeth into various parts of it and clawed at everything they could reach. It had come in its own body, making itself vulnerable to physical damage and pain, and Lydia could feel how angry it was at its mistake.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion and a voice in her head was screaming _no no no..._

"_STOP! YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!" _Lydia screamed, getting to her feet as Allison got out from behind the headstone and began firing more and more arrows with a determined look on her face.

Amidst the chaos and the screeching, a cool voice spoke in her mind. It was angry, but it wasn't yelling. Oh, it was so angry.

"_He will pay,_" it said simply.

Lydia felt her eyes widen and her heart dropped so violently, she thought she would be ill right then and there. "_No,"_ she whispered.

No, this wasn't her fault. She hadn't planned this, it had to understand that. She willed it to understand that she didn't know they were planning an ambush. No, she never even told them where she was going. It had to understand. This wasn't her idea.

But it spoke once more. Just once more, in that same cold whisper. "_He will pay._"

And she forgot her friends and the Darach and the body, running back through the darkness and the gravestones to reach Stiles.


	8. Cold

**Author's Note: Yay, another chapter! Some of you wrote me about the song I mentioned in my last Author's Note, and how they listened to it while they read. Well, in case any of you wanted to know, my song for this chapter was: Lost Highway by Aaron. Anyways, I hope you enjoy, and thank you all sooooo much from the bottom of my heart for your kind reviews. They all mean the world to me. (By the way, I hope you all don't still hate me for last chapter's cliffhanger) **

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Lydia had cut her feet on the sticks and the pebbles that scattered the ground. She couldn't see where she was going. Her ears were bombarded with the sounds of furious wolves and screeching. Her eyes were perpetually flowing with tears and they dried against her face as she ran through the night.

She couldn't breathe.

It seemed like hours before Lydia reached him. She practically dove on top of him and immediately grabbed his face between her hands. It was so cold. So cold. She shook him.

"Stiles, you have to wake up now," she said, her voice so shaky and panicked that she could hardly form words at all. She rubbed her thumbs in circles on his cheeks, her eyes flicking across his face for any sign of life.

"Please, Stiles, please," she whispered frantically.

Lydia pressed her palm against his heart but again, she felt nothing. She slammed her fist against his chest desperately, and the motion seemed to force out the sob she had been holding in all night. She wept and screamed out his name, but got no response.

The sounds of the ambush were lost because all that was left now was a ringing in Lydia's ears and she felt light-headed as she stared into his lifeless face. Her heart was pounding in her throat, threatening to choke her. She hit her fist against his chest, over and over until _something _stirred there and she could breathe again.

She instinctively reached for his wrist, but flinched at the touch. His skin was getting colder - colder than the California weather should allow. She paused in mid-swing, her fist hovering over Stiles' chest, and that's when it truly hit her.

Lydia knew that Stiles should have awoken by now. He shouldn't feel so freezing, even in death. She felt anger flooding her veins, but it wasn't her own; it was the Darachs. In its time of anguish, it would pit its anger against the person it's been using as leverage throughout this entire ordeal. It affected him before, and it could do it again, with or without touching him.

It would keep Stiles from waking up again.

Despite the chaos around her and the feeling of being crushed from the inside out that overwhelmed her, Lydia Martin was still a genius. She still kept a small, rational voice in the back of her mind that spewed knowledge and logic at her even in the worst of times. It spoke to her now, but in a voice that she'd gotten to know all too well over the past few weeks.

_Now, I'm just a veterinarian, but I'm certain that this is mostly supernatural damage. Not anything a hospital can fix. _

She slowly uncurled her fingers as she mulled over Dr. Deaton's words in her mind. _Supernatural damage. _Of course it was, because before Lydia was plunged into the supernatural world of Beacon Hills, she would have never believed there was a potion that could temporarily kill someone.

_Kinda like that stuff in Romeo and Juliette? _Stiles had said.

She was living a fairy tale, whether she liked it or not. Day after day, she was a human abiding in a world plucked straight out of a fiction novel.

And so, she had to act the part.

Suddenly, the urge to curl up with Stiles and give up until she died there with him vanished. Her face no longer contorted into one of anguish and pain. All emotion was pushed down into a darker place inside her, where she could deal with them later.

Her ears cleared up, and she noticed that the noises of anarchy back at the candlelit circle had begun to abate. She would have to act quickly.

Still straddling his legs, Lydia put her hands on either side of Stiles' face and closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his. Knowing Stiles, she would have expected that the action would feel warm and comforting and everything Stiles was wrapped into a single, intimate touch. But the Darach somehow invaded him with frost, and Lydia felt nothing but cold when she leaned against him.

She would give anything to do this once again, when it felt the way it should.

Her attempts to appease the Darach and satisfy it in the knowledge that she was not the one who arranged the ambush had failed, but now she knew she hadn't done it correctly. This was war, and she was the only one who could stop it.

She began to speak, ever so quiet.

_"Es vos audio?"_ (Are you listening?)

She took a deep breath. She hadn't expected a response, but she knew it could hear her. She continued, slowly.

_"Darach, recipero meus vitualamen ut a typicus of pacis inter nos." _(Darach, accept my sacrifice as a symbol of peace between us.)

_"Ego vilis haud vulnero vobis."_(I meant no harm to you.)

_"Puer vilis haud vulnero vobis." _(The boy meant no harm to you.)

_"Licentia puer exsisto. Licentia iam , quod nos vadum nunquam opportunus iterum."_ (Leave the boy be. Leave now, and we shall never meet again.)

She opened her eyes and pulled back from Stiles, staring at him to see any sign that it had worked, and he had returned to her.

Suddenly, the screeching and snarling and violent noises coming from the candlelit circle had ceased to exist all at once, and Lydia snapped her head to peer through the darkness. She counted three small figures, and she knew her friends were still alive. She was flooded with relief.

The hooded figure had disappeared completely.

She looked back at Stiles with wide eyes, her heart pounding as she waited. She felt as if the entire world was holding its breath, and the fear and anticipation that surrounded her was almost too much to bear -

There was a figure standing behind Stiles, several dozen feet away. It stared at her, and Lydia could see it was the Darach in the moonlight. She could feel it staring at her, and she stared right back. There was something forming between them...a pull in her chest...

And then it was gone. Lydia felt a swooping sensation, like she was an elastic band being snapped back into place. Her breath caught in her throat, but the sensation was gone as soon as it came and she knew what it meant.

It was gone. It had _worked. _The nonsense she had spoken in a language she'd only learned out of _boredom _had saved her life, and her friends lives and-

"Stiles?" Lydia asked, putting her hand on his heart for the thousandth time that night.

Lydia thought she would pass out right then and there, but before she could, the boy underneath her sucked in a breath so violently that she had to roll off his legs in one swift movement. She wasted no time recovering though. She crawled close to him and grabbed his shoulders as he started breathing again with lungs that hadn't had air for a _long _time.

"Stiles, it's okay," she said frantically as his gaze whipped around the graveyard violently and his eyes widened in panic. He began coughing and Lydia tried to grab his face or his neck or anywhere to let him know she was _there _and it was okay.

But maybe it wasn't, because when her hands came in contact with the skin at the base of his neck, it was as cold as it was before, if not colder.

Actually, cold was an understatement. It was like she had touched dry ice, and it almost burned her fingers. She felt the blood drain from her face because _no one _could survive being that cold and who was to say he wouldn't just drop dead again right then and there-

"Ly-ly-" Stiles stuttered and gasped and he reached out to her and she pulled him in, trying to warm him with everything she had, but he was trembling so hard he could hardly grip on to her. Lydia's eyes went so wide, they might have popped out of her skull.

"Scott!" Lydia screamed. It was one of the loudest sounds that ever came out of her.

She and Stiles kneeled in the grass, gripping on to each other for dear life, and she screamed Scott's name again and again until he and Allison and Isaac were running towards them.

Stiles was making gasping noises that sprung more tears into her eyes, and she struggled to hold him still, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to concentrate on how hard he was shaking.

Scott must have been in full-on adrenaline mode because he wasted no time asking questions or stumbling over his words at the sight of Stiles and Lydia. He kneeled down beside them and placed his hand on Stiles' quivering shoulder. Lydia didn't know if it was the moonlight playing tricks on her, or her exhaustion taking its toll, but she swore that Scott's veins were turning black, like she could see the liquid rushing through them.

Stiles calmed down all at once. She could still feel his breath coming out in shudders through her hair, but his trembling died down significantly, until he was only shivering.

"Call an ambulance," Scott said calmly, not taking his hand off Stiles' back.

"Scott, we can't explain this-" Allison started.

"Just do it!"

But before anyone could take out their phones, Stiles spoke up, pulling away from Lydia.

"N-no," he said, his breath catching in his throat. "Don't. P-p-please don't."

"Stiles-" Scott began, but Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into the ground, folding in on himself. He was obviously in immense pain, but he also obviously didn't want to argue.

Lydia was still flooding with relief because she had lost him for such a long time and now here he was, fine - moderately - and _alive_, and when he looked up at her with those gold eyes, still kind and innocent after _everything_, she knew she'd have to have a lot more willpower to prevent herself from pulling him into a hug.

And so she did, and he didn't hesitate before wrapping his arms around her stomach and digging his face into her hair. His skin was warmer, but he still quivered, and she placed a hand on the back of his head and held him tighter. The others just stood around, obviously exhausted and wondering what the hell just happened.

Lydia knew she should hate them for getting into their business and almost getting Stiles killed, but she didn't have it in her. She was so exhausted and so incredibly happy at the same time that she thought she would explode.

"Call your mom," Lydia said quietly, looking at Scott over Stiles' shoulder.

"My mom? She doesn't-"

"She knows. Please, Scott," Lydia said.

Scott was looking at her with his brow furrowed, but he complied, taking out his phone and dialing.

* * *

Scott sat in the passenger seat of his mom's car, while Lydia and Stiles camped out In the back in some unspoken agreement never to leave each others' sides for a very long time. Allison and Isaac took the jeep, following them home.

The body of Jane Doe was gone, having been taken by the Darach when it disappeared into thin air with hardly a scratch. Scott had explained that they were about to be overpowered by the thing when it just stopped with a sort of resolve suddenly plastered on to its ugly face.

Lydia was going to have a hard time explaining that one.

Obviously being dead had taken its toll on Stiles. He had started to fall asleep sitting up in his seat, but Lydia had nudged him and somehow they had done that silent communication thing again that told Stiles he could put his head in Lydia's lap and curl up on the seats. Melissa had brought blankets, prior to Scott's instructions, and Stiles still had about six of them piled on top of him. He still shivered occasionally, and Lydia ran her hand through his hair as he slept, leaning her head against the window.

She could feel Melissa's gaze on her and Stiles in the rearview mirror. The moment she had arrived at the graveyard, Lydia and her friends were already at the gate and Melissa was going completely nurse-overboard with Stiles, though Lydia suspected it was more her motherly instincts taking over than her nursing habits.

She was ablaze with questions as she gave Stiles blankets and hugged everyone, including Lydia, but eventually she gave up, feeling the tension and exhaustion in the air.

She would definitely ask later though. Lydia had questions as well, like how the hell her friends had just suddenly appeared at the graveyard in a blur of arrows and fangs.

But all in due time.

For now, she occupied herself with watching the shadows of the trees pass by as they drove down the road in silence, and running her fingers through Stiles' hair. She should be going insane right about now, but truthfully, she only felt numb. And under that numbness wasn't panic or hysterics; it was a sort of guilty happiness.

Because what _were _she and Stiles? Their relationship was so profoundly complicated that not even the genius voice in her head could label it. There the boy was, his head in her lap, her hand through his hair, and every part of her was screaming concern and protectiveness for him when only a couple years ago, he was nothing at all. She craved him in so many ways, and in others, she couldn't imagine being with him. She hadn't thought about kissing him tonight, though she knew that she wanted to, because she had a deep-rooted _need _to be close to him and kissing was the only way she knew how.

She remembered the way he had looked in the Jeep on the way to the graveyard. The way the sun shined on his face and lit up his eyes and somehow, this spastic boy that she never noticed at all, had become one of the most beautiful people she had ever known.

She remembered how it had felt to be hit with the realization that she might _lose _him - and the denial that she'd already lost him - and how her thoughts were replaced with nothing but the need to revive him and see him again.

What was she feeling? Why did she feel like this?

Who _was _this boy?

She was startled out of her thoughts by the blare of a horn, and she looked up to see Melissa pressing her hand against the steering wheel while she slammed on the brakes. They were at an intersection and she had nearly collided with a car that was speeding in the direction perpendicular to her.

Stiles, amazingly, wasn't shocked out of sleep by the noise. He only shifted his head in her lap and shuddered, gripping her thigh in his sleep. Lydia stroked his face, soothing him.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Melissa said in a breathy voice, draping her arm over the steering wheel and resting her forehead on it for a moment, obviously startled.

"Mom, it's okay," Scott said softly, gripping her shoulder. Lydia had the feeling that he smelled some sort of emotion on his mother that he felt the need to soothe.

"No, it's not," Melissa said fervently, and she pulled over to the side of the road for a moment in case other cars needed to pass. Lydia could see the Jeep in the side mirror, pulling over behind them. She figured Allison wouldn't need to ask questions as to why they were stopping, given the stress of the night.

Melissa turned around right away, eyeing Lydia and Stiles with a guilty gaze. "Are you okay?"

"We're fine, Ms McCall," Lydia said softly, but she knew the woman wasn't referring to the near-death experience they had just had in the car.

"You're not," Melissa said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. When she opened them, she pointed them only towards Stiles. "He's not."

Lydia didn't know what to say, because she wasn't sure she had the right to speak for Stiles, who was shaking again and unconsciously pulling the blankets over himself.

"You- all of you - risking your lives every night while I'm off without any way of knowing how you are. And then things like this happen and -" she gestured to Stiles and then put that same hand over her eyes.

"Mom-" Scott started, but he obviously didn't have the words. He placed a hand on her shoulder again, and judging by Lydia's view in the side mirror, the werewolf felt helpless in comforting his mother. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. He must feel guilty as hell.

Every person in the car felt responsible for something they knew they couldn't control, but the vehicle was filled with guilt nonetheless.

They stayed like that for a long time - Lydia's hand on Stiles' head, Scott's on his Mom's shoulder and Melissa with a hand over her eyes. When she pulled it away, her eyes were still dry, and Lydia was once again hit with how remarkably strong this woman was.

Lydia would probably be crying right about now, if she hadn't used her entire supply of tears in the graveyard.

Melissa reached out a hand and put it on Stiles' blanket covered shoulder gently, her brow furrowed. Now she was using her nursing powers to diagnose him, but she only nodded sadly before turning back to wheel, putting the car in gear and driving off again.


	9. Giving Up

Lydia stood lurking on the stairs of the McCall house, trying her best to hear the one-sided conversation from the living room without being seen.

"_Yes, _Dad. I'm staying at Scott's tonight," Stiles said, exhaustion lacing his voice.

There was a pause.

"I'm fine, I promise. I'm just getting a cold or something. No big deal."

There was a longer pause here where Lydia almost cried out as someone touched her shoulder, but they placed a hand on her mouth in time, and Lydia turned her head to see Scott give her a nod.

They really shouldn't have been doing this. Spying on him.

That didn't mean they were going to stop.

"I will," Stiles said. He sighed after a moment of silence. "Go to work, Dad. See ya."

And that was it. Lydia wondered if Scott heard what Stiles' dad had said on the other end of the line, but before she could ask, he was already making his way past her and down the stairs. She waited a few seconds before following him - not that that would make it any less obvious that they were eavesdropping.

Scott sat on the couch beside Stiles in silence and Lydia made her way over to the fireplace, sitting against it cross-legged and looking at the two of them awkwardly.

Lydia had asked Melissa if she could stay the night at her house as well. There were no questions asked; the woman only gave a nod of her head and a kind smile, and Lydia felt all warm inside. But now she felt a little out of place in the home since she had become friends with these two boys in a hurry and under desperate circumstances. She didn't quite feel she belonged just yet.

"Scott, how did you find us?" Stiles asked solemnly. Lydia could feel tension in the air, and nobody in the room looked at one another.

Scott sighed and sunk back into the couch. Stiles was hunched over with blankets still on his back, pale with dark circles under his eyes. Somehow, he looked like the walking dead.

Lydia guessed that that was what happened when you died for about an hour and came back to life with your blood frozen in your veins.

"Allison and I were suspicious from the beginning, but then there was that incident at the library where you guys just happened to leave at the same time..." Scott explained. "I didn't mean to listen, I swear to God. But I heard you guys talking until you were out of the school and none of what you were saying made any sense."

Stiles and Lydia shared a pointed look. Of course, with their loud bantering in the hallway, Scotts werewolf hearing would have tuned into their conversation. Being subtle and mysterious was never one of Stiles' talents, and Lydia wasn't going to pretend she was any better at it.

"But you mentioned Deaton. So... that's who we went to," Scott finished. He was hesitant of course, because he wouldn't have wanted to rat out his boss, but he also wouldn't want to piss off his already strung out best friend.

Stiles put his face in his hands and made a sound that clearly showed that he was fed up.

"Untrustworthy son of a..." he muttered. At least he had enough self-restraint left to keep himself from saying that last word in front of Scott, who had always admired the vet.

"Look, it wasn't his fault, okay? I practically gave the guy an aneurism trying to force it out of him. Plus, obviously he didn't tell us everything because I know we screwed up," Scott said.

"You think?" Lydia spoke up. "You would have gotten everyone killed. We were so close from making peace with the Darach and then you showed up-"

"We were just trying to _help_. Deaton let slip where you were going to be, and he begged us to leave you alone but we left before we could get the whole story. We just thought you were going to try and kill it on your own," Scott said, and Stiles snapped his head up and whirled to look at Scott.

"We're not _idiots_, Scott," he said.

Now it was Scott's turn to groan. "I know, I _know_. But we were worried, Stiles. All of us. And we followed you, and we were just going to stand by in case anything happened, but then we saw the Darach closing in on Lydia and what were we supposed to think?"

"You were _supposed_ to think that we weren't _idiots_," Stiles said pointedly.

"You were an idiot for not telling us in the first place," Scott retorted.

"It wasn't your fight-"

"Yeah, well it wasn't your fight either, Stiles," Lydia cut in loudly. That shut them up, and they both turned to look at her.

Stiles spoke up with anger and confusion on his tired face. "What are you talking about? You think I would let you do it alone when I found out-"

"See, _that's_ the problem. All of you think I'm so fragile and _useless-_"

"You're not-" Stiles interrupted, but Lydia kept going, knowing she wouldn't have the courage to say the words later.

"Even though I _am_ the one who kept all of you from being violently killed by that thing," she spat.

Stiles' face softened, and he gave her a look that said "_you?" _

And Lydia raised her eyebrows, her face having the word "obviously" written all over it.

"How? You were with Stiles-"

"I had a connection with the Darach," Lydia said. She hated using the word _connection _but her heart soared at the notion that she could now say _had _rather than _have._ "I spoke to it in Latin and tried to undo the mistake that you made."

Scott looked indignant at her scornful tone, but he stayed silent.

Stiles made a pained noise and hunched over again, closing his eyes and grimacing. Scott quickly reached over and placed his hand over his best friends, and Lydia's heart jolted in her chest. She hadn't imagined it back at the graveyard. Scott's veins were turning _black _at the contact.

"How are you doing that?" Lydia asked, awed.

Scott didn't look at her when he spoke, concentrated on what he was doing. "Deaton taught me how to do it on the animals at the clinic."

"You can heal people?"

"Not heal," Scott said as he removed his hand from Stiles'. Stiles visibly relaxed, but he didn't open his eyes or move from his position. "I can take away their pain, at least."

These were the times when Lydia became irritatingly conflicted when she thought about the life she was living. It could be so profoundly awful and traumatizing being around werewolves and kanimas and other nightmares, but then she witnessed things like Scotts abilities and she didn't know whether to hate or admire the life she lived.

There was the sound of running water from upstairs, and Scott sighed, sinking back in the couch again. "That's Isaac. He's not exactly the most peaceful sleeper."

Stiles gave a short laugh. "No doubt."

Lydia longed to get inside Stiles' head for just a few moments. He always seemed so close to cracking under the pressure of the supernatural life, but he never did. Lydia had cracked plenty of times, like that time she had gone on a nice naked hike through the woods for two days. And then there was Stiles, who cleaned up after everyone's shit and only complained out of humor or sarcasm and never out of genuine irritation.

"Listen, you guys should get some sleep," Scott said, getting up from the couch.

"Yeah I'll, uh, take the couch," Stiles said, beginning to arrange pillows and blankets.

"You can't," Scott said simply. Stiles froze in the action of slamming a pillow down on the couch and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Why not?"

Scott rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, a habit he must have picked up from Stiles. He smiled sheepishly. "My mom won't let you be alone."

Stiles slumped, groaning, but Lydia could tell he was touched.

"You and Lydia go in my room, I'll sleep out here," Scott said, shooing Stiles off the couch.

But Stiles had frozen again with his mouth hanging open. "Me...me and...in your room?"

Despite all they went through that night, it seemed Stiles was still a little dumbfounded by the idea of sleeping in the same room as Lydia, like it was the most erotic thing he would ever do.

Lydia rolled her eyes and moved to pull Stiles up from the couch by his hand. His temperature had gone up considerably since arriving at Scott's house, but his skin was still a little chilly to touch. Lydia couldn't tell if this was still just _supernatural damage_, or if there was something physically wrong with him.

He left his blankets behind and complied, half-walking up the stairs while Lydia pulled him.

"Who were you talking to on the phone?" Lydia asked nonchalantly, still pulling him behind her.

Stiles sighed. "I know you were listening, Lydia."

Lydia furrowed her brow, glancing at him over her shoulder. "I was 20 feet away from you."

"Yeah, you also breathe like Darth Vader," Stiles quipped.

Lydia opened her mouth for a retort, but figured it wasn't worth it.

"Your dad worried about you?" she asked quietly as she opened the door to Scott's room.

"My dad's always worried about me," Stiles said, moving over to Scott's bed and sitting on the end while Lydia shut the door and leaned against it.

Stiles tilted his head considerately. "Then again, I just so happened to show up at every single Beacon Hills crime scene for the past like, _2 years_, so that might be worrying him a little."

Lydia scoffed. "That's a little hard to explain."

"You think?" Stiles said, giving a short laugh.

They stayed in awkward silence for a while before Stiles frowned and was quick to reach behind him, grab the blanket off Scott's bed and wrap it around himself. He looked up at Lydia staring at him, and gave a sheepish smile.

This was all her fault. Just her and her goddamn _connections_. First Peter Hale, and now some hooded, human sacrificing freak and _that _was the reason Stiles was wrapped up like a child in a snowstorm.

Suddenly, she was back in the graveyard, her hands stroking his frigid cheeks and fear flooding her veins because he was /dead/ and how could a small and simple human being like her ever have the strength to resurrect him?

But she had. Three times now, she had resurrected people. First it was Peter Hale - albeit she wasn't exactly _aware_ of what she was doing back then - and then Jackson, who she had brought back with the help of a fucking house key. Finally, she had brought back Stiles with her useless knowledge in the Latin language. That was all that was.

Right?

She could feel herself pale, because that wasn't all it was, was it? A few words of Latin had the power to make this practically omnipotent being just _disappear? _She _knew _that something else had gone on in her mind when she'd attempted to appease the Darach, but no she didn't want to think about that anymore-

"Hey, hey, you okay?" Stiles asked, alarmed. He was in front of her, his hand on her shoulder in a light squeeze. How had he gotten there?

Lydia blinked, and was mortified when she felt a tear slide down her face.

Stiles was staring at her with those fucking _eyes _and she couldn't stand that he didn't blame her at all for the fact that he practically turned into a human popsicle. She wanted to slap him for his abundant adoration for her when she was just a wreck. A train wreck. The timer on the bomb. The oncoming storm. She was going to destroy everyone and yet this idiotic boy just stood in front of her and now he had his hand on her face, wiping away her tears and he was so _gentle_-

"I don't know what I am," she whispered, her eyes wide and burning. She hardly knew what she was saying anymore.

Stiles shook his head, uncomprehending. "Lydia-"

"Why do you care? Why do you always keep caring? I mean, there has to come a point where you just stop caring, Stiles," she said, her voice twisted with insanity and defeat.

Stiles looked shocked and confused, but not offended. Never offended.

"How would that help anything, Lydia? How would that help if I just rolled over and gave up? Scott can't give up. I won't give up as long as he's still fighting and right up until the day he-"

Stiles cut off sharply, swallowing the word and taking a step back. Lydia watched him - the hard set of his jaw, the circles under his eyes that looked almost like make up. His lips were pale, still not having regained their color.

But his eyes were still the same when he looked at her, always concerned and always sparkling and always that beautiful golden brown. They were the kind of eyes you overlooked if you weren't paying attention, and were mesmerized by every time you were close enough to appreciate them.

"Look, Lydia, we're going to have bad days," Stiles continued, his voice soft and placating. "But you can't just give up."

Lydia could have laughed. His definition of a bad day was stealing a body from a morgue, dragging it into a graveyard and then dying for an hour and waking up with ice in your veins.

But their lives were no laughing matter anymore. They couldn't keep lingering on the irony of everything every time they tried to lighten the mood. They had to begin to accept that this was the new norm.

"I didn't ask for this. I wasn't even friends with you and Scott when all of this started so why the hell am I here now?" She asked, raising her voice.

There was a ringing silence, and Lydia regretted her words immediately when she looked up at Stiles, his mouth falling open just a little and his eyes darting back and forth across her face . He began to blink rapidly and looked away, swallowing.

"Is it really so bad? Being friends with us, I mean," he asked, so quiet.

"Stiles, that's not what I meant-"

Stiles turned his head to look over to her and smiled sadly. "I know what you meant."

_She _didn't even know what she really meant by it. She was exhausted and beginning to dwindle into the self-pity she'd been building up inside of her. She was confused and irritated and trying to block out the images of dead Stiles whenever she looked at the flesh and blood Stiles in front of her.

She'd basically just told him she'd rather erase their friendship than live the life they lived now.

How fucked up can a person be? How heartless and cold-blooded-

She put a hand over her eyes and slid down the door, wishing she could turn to dust where she sat. She heard Stiles sit down next to her after a while, and then she felt him beside her, his arm brushing against hers. She could feel him beginning to shiver again. He had ditched his blanket in a rush to wipe her tears and now he wouldn't leave her for a split second to go and retrieve it again.

Stupid, idiotic, pig-headed boy-

She moved closer and maybe she would be his blanket this time. Stiles, the boy who always acted as the protector and the shield even in his fragile human state. She could protect him. She hadn't done a very good job in the graveyard, had she? And now he was freezing and she was almost too warm in her sweater and she moved closer to him, pressing herself against him until they were practically the same person. Lydia threw her leg over his thigh and pressed her chest against his side. She nudged her head against his chin, and with their silent communication skills, he must have known what she wanted.

He angled his head down to her and she moved up until they could press their foreheads together and there it was. She knew, back in the graveyard, she knew that this small action should feel warm and comforting and everything Stiles was and _there it was_. It wasn't cold anymore like it had been when he was dead and she was terrified. Now they closed their eyes and just enjoyed the contact because it felt so right and it soothed her from the inside out as she closed her eyes.

It was a natural thing when their lips met. His hands joined together at the small of her back and dragged her fully on top of him, gentle and eager all at the same time. She had her hands at the back of his neck, running them through his hair and up his face and then down to his chest where his heart was beating way too fast.

The kiss didn't last too long, but it was just the thing they both needed and longed for and they moved their lips together in ways that fit perfectly and felt just right. It caused the strangest sensations throughout her. A jolt in her chest that made her want to cry and a curl in her fingers because she felt like she needed to hang on for dear life to whatever this was.

She couldn't get enough. This wasn't enough. She wanted to morph into him and not in a sexual sense either, but in a sense that she needed his shelter and he needed hers and it wouldn't make sense if they were apart.

They separated and didn't say a word. She only slumped on his chest, her head in the crook of his neck and Stiles hugged her to him like he'd lost her for days and only just found her. He had his face in her hair and she closed her eyes and leaned into him.

Stiles Stilinski, here with her, cuddling her to him. Suddenly, that notion wasn't so absurd to her anymore. For once in her life, she felt balanced, like Stiles was the perfect weight to her psychological scale.

"I'm going to hell," she whispered against his skin, which had finally grown warmer after their kiss.

Stiles sighed. "We're all going to hell, Lydia."

* * *

**Author's Note: I did it. I wrote the kiss. I hope you guys like it, cause I had you in mind the whole time hoping to make it right for you. Anyways, this is the part where it gets hard for me because I have absolutely no plot planned after this chapter, but I also don't want to end it here. So, feel free to review or PM me some ideas or suggestions or anything you were maybe hoping to see in future chapters? I could use the help. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoyed.**


	10. Red Solo Cup

**Author's Note: Oh, look! It's a happy chapter! (Sort of. Not really. Cause nothing's ever happy in the Teen Wolf world.) Thanks so much for everyone who suggested some ideas, I really appreciate it. There was one idea, however, that was quite popular amongst you guys, so you'll see at the end of the chapter what I decided to do to keep the plot moving forward. Enjoy!**

* * *

Lydia had truly thought things might have been beginning to look up. For her. For Stiles. For Scott. For Melissa. For every damned werewolf in Beacon Hills that deserved a little peace for once.

For one week after her kiss with Stiles, she felt solace forming in the air around her, thick and hopeful and oh-so-uplifting. One week of subjecting herself to intense and extremely necessary introspection in which she thought about how her nightmares just so happened to subside when she'd slept with Stiles the night of the graveyard incident. It was just shameless, fully-clothed cuddling, really. But she'd never felt safer. When she went home for the rest of the week while Stiles recovered, she was dumbfounded at how significantly less enjoyable her sleep was without him and how badly she wanted to kiss him again.

A bond had formed between them that night. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't know what she wanted it to be, but it was there and burning bright as she tried to slowly sink back into her life before the Darach.

And still, after that week of dissecting her own brain for some kind of understanding of herself and what her life was, she found nothing. But not only this, she was profoundly disturbed at how she hadn't thought at all of the fact that she'd stolen a body from the morgue and stabbed it with a kitchen knife. It was like these actions were just added to the string of normal incidents in her life and tucked away to the back of her mind, dismissed. That couldn't be healthy, could it?

Her days of relative peace were interrupted only on the eighth day, when she'd decided to go to the Beacon Hills Annual Bonfire. Everyone always went, because despite how lame a bonfire sounded to the teenage ear, the Beacon Hills bonfire always turned out to be an incredible event. They played _good _music. There was quality food. There was every teenager in Beacon Hills grinding up against each other without a care in the world.

Lydia wasn't even sure who ran the bonfire anymore, but she knew that she _had _to go. Yes, she may have known that Beacon Hills wasn't everything it seemed and she'd seen more death and gore and trauma than any human being should ever have had to endure, but she was still Lydia Martin. A party wasn't a party unless she showed up.

"You look_ fine_, Lydia. Great, actually. _Phenomenal_-"

Lydia turned away from her vanity, squinting at Stiles with pursed lips. "I'll have you know that bombarding me with compliments will not make my hair curl any faster."

Stiles' expression twisted into one of exasperation. "You've curled the same strand like _twelve_ times."

Lydia gave one of her signature eye rolls and went back to her task, ignoring him. She was perfectly aware that he'd been sitting on her bed watching her curl her hair for about half an hour, but patience was a virtue, no?

"You're going to have fun tonight, Stiles," Lydia said matter-of-factly, curling yet another lock of her strawberry blonde hair.

"Forgive me for completely rejecting that idea due to my past experiences with parties," Stiles said.

"This isn't even a party, really," she lied and shrugged in the mirror. "It's a community thing."

"So...a party," Stiles said flatly, looking at her in the mirror.

Lydia put down her curling iron and began fluffing her hair and tilting her head, admiring every strand and ridding it of flyaways.

"Well, I _refuse _to mope around here all day," she said. She turned around to face him, satisfied. "And you're not going to mope around here all day either. Stiles, your lack of social experience is really going to bite you in the ass one day."

"Great, now can we go?" Stiles asked, getting up from the bed and making his way towards the door of her bedroom.

What a _grump_.

She grabbed him by the hand and spun him around, grabbing his other hand and holding them in front of her. "Stiles, please just do this. For me."

She could physically see his eyes soften as he looked down at her face. She knew that all this bouncing around between near-death experiences and putting on the facade of a regular teenage boy was getting to him. He was maturing more and more every day, growing older than he should be.

Lydia could feel it too. That sense of isolation from the regular world, where she didn't feel she belonged anymore despite how hard she tried. She had the whole supernatural world on her shoulders now and she was forced to keep living amongst people who were ignorant to the most important aspect of her life.

She never thought she would admit that, but there it was. Werewolves, death, survival - they were all her life consisted of now, whether she liked it or not. Dressing up and going to a party was like sitting at the children's table at a dinner, where she didn't have to worry about anything essential, but felt completely inadequate in doing so.

She held Stiles hands between her own and he sighed, closing his eyes. He had completely recovered from the graveyard incident - physically, at least. He had been sleeping remarkably better too over that past week obviously, since the circles under his eyes had almost diminished completely. Even so, Lydia still felt the strange but unquenchable need to protect him like he was a magnet for all impending doom.

Stiles let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I just- I mean, a party? It's-"

"I know. I get it. But you can't keep punishing yourself over all this. You _deserve _this," Lydia said, trying to convey as much sincerity as possible because she knew Stiles didn't believe it.

He looked about to say something else, but Lydia interrupted him with an exaggerated eye roll. "Would you stop over thinking everything?"

They stood there for a moment, Lydia rubbing her thumbs in circles on his hands before he took them away from her and put them on her waist instead, pulling her towards him.

They'd come to realize through their friendship - and now more-than-friendship - that despite Stiles' tendency to talk _a lot_ and Lydia's need to express every intelligent thought that crosses her mind, her and Stiles' relationship seemed to be made up of mostly contact. Physical contact and eye contact were the only things they needed to thoroughly communicate, and it was refreshing. It was different.

"You do look great though," Stiles said, smiling.

She was wearing a nice dark green dress that cut off a little above her knees. It was made of a strange leather material that hugged her curves nicely but was sophisticated enough with long sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. She wasn't looking for any boys on her ass, after all. She wasn't quite sure what she and Stiles were, but she was certain that she liked it.

"I know," Lydia grinned, swaying with his hands on her hips.

And then they were in the Jeep - which Lydia wasn't sure she was particularly fond of just yet - and Stiles was in a significantly better mood. They had just missed the sunset and were now driving in twilight, the sky a quickly dimming dark blue. They didn't say much as they drove, but they didn't feel the need to turn the radio on either. Stiles' fingers tapped idly on the steering wheel while Lydia leaned her head against her headrest and made due with watching the streetlights blur by, lighting up her face in intervals.

They turned into a large parking lot and when they got out of the car, Lydia was facing a vast sandy beach where she could see the large yellow bonfire about a hundred feet away, lighting up the ocean shore. She could hear music in the distance, a tune that she vaguely recognized as "Unique In Its Madness" by Of Verona, and she smiled to herself at the hundreds and hundreds of teenagers she saw ahead. She could practically see all the red solo cups from where she stood, and she was pretty sure their contents didn't consist of punch and Coca Cola.

"A community thing?" Stiles said uncertainly, making his way over to her side.

Lydia just looked up at him and shrugged. He held out his arm for her to hook hers through, but she raised her eyebrows at him. Obviously, he wasn't quite aware that they were past _hooking arms. _ She rolled her eyes and yanked his arm down by the hand, gripping it tightly in hers and pulling him over the curb of the parking lot and down to the beach.

She ignored the small twinge of worry in her stomach and reminded herself to get checked out for an anxiety disorder at some point soon. Recently, she almost always felt this way upon entering a new environment - and she refused to acknowledge the fact that this gut feeling was usually right. She wasn't going to alienate herself from every event in Beacon Hills because of a _gut feeling. _This was a new start.

They made their way towards the huge bonfire, moving through different scatters of people chatting or dancing or flirting. She recognized like 98% of the people there, and a lot of them were shooting glances at her hand intertwined with Stiles' and their eyes darting between them like they were the new celebrity scandal. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at all of them, and when she caught the eye of a few of them, she raised her eyebrows, challenging.

Not that she couldn't understand their shock and curiosity. Who would have thought Lydia Martin would show up to a party with Stiles Stilinski and look genuinely interested in his company? But then again, she was no longer surprised by the idea now that she _knew _this boy, and now that she's watched him _die. _Her feelings were so raw and new at the moment that she was surprised she wasn't lying in a ball in the corner with her thumb in her mouth.

Stiles seemed completely oblivious to the looks, his head darting around like he was trying to take in everything all at once.

But Lydia knew him better than that.

"Who are you looking for?" she asked.

Stiles whipped his head around to look down at her, incredulous. "How do you know I'm looking for anyone? I'm not looking for anyone."

Lydia just gave him a skeptical look that could wither him where he stood.

Stiles sighed, his body visibly slumping as they walked. "Look, I'm trying not to ruin the mood. But Scott hasn't answered my texts all day and I'm wondering if maybe he'll just show up here."

Lydia looked away from Stiles and sighed, pulling him in a different direction as a herd of drunken teenagers came hurtling towards them. "Stiles, he's a werewolf. He's got things to do."

"You don't think he'd find the time to answer his text messages after all the crap that happened?" Stiles asked, allowing her to tow him along towards the six foot wide bonfire. "It's weird."

"He's probably too busy drowning in sexual tension between him and Allison to reach his phone," Lydia said flippantly.

"Or he's _dying_. Painfully and bloody and surrounded by dick werewolves," Stiles supplied, raising his voice as the music changed to a song with a crushing beat.

Finally, Lydia paused, pulling him close so he could hear her. "He's fine. You're over thinking things again."

"Am I?" Stiles asked quietly, staring her in the face as she latched on to his forearm.

She didn't answer. She couldn't, because then she'd be lying to him and to herself. Who knew if Scott was okay? Stiles had every right to be worried, though she really wished he wouldn't be. She truly did want him to have good time.

She wanted to have a good time _with _him.

Lydia sighed. "When you left his house that morning after the graveyard...he told you he'd let you know if anything serious came up, right?"

"Yeah-"

"So, you don't trust him? You don't think he's learned his lesson about underestimating you?" Lydia pushed.

"Underestimated or not, I'm still human and he's still a werewolf and he's also _really_ stubborn," Stiles said.

Lydia furrowed her brow and shook her head at him. "So are you."

Stiles mouth fell open indignantly, but Lydia shook her head vigorously. "Look, can we just stop talking about werewolves for one night? Please? Scott can take care of himself."

Of course, Lydia knew that would be something a little hard to believe for Stiles, since it was only weeks ago that he had to step into a puddle of gasoline to stop his friend from killing himself.

Stiles stared longingly at a red solo cup as a guy ran passed them without a shirt on, obviously completely hammered.

Lydia widened her eyes up at him. "You want to drink?"

"Maybe," Stiles replied, wrinkling his nose adorably.

Lydia raised her eyebrows at him and curled her bottom lip, impressed. "Hm. Didn't peg you as the type."

Stiles sighed, still staring at the grinning teenagers bustling around them. "Me neither."

* * *

A tipsy Stiles was a happy Stiles. It was odd, because Jackson had always been a really angry drunk, and that's what she usually expected when she had a few drinks with someone.

But as she sat on a log by the fire, Stiles sat on the ground beside her, spinning a cup around on his finger and just talking and _talking. _

It might have annoyed her if she wasn't a little tipsy herself.

"I mean, a werewolf? A werewolf. Never gets old, really. Blind werewolves and werewolves that come back from the dead and that's _nothing _compared to the friggin Kanima-"

"_Stiles,_"Lydia warned, but apparently Stiles had it covered. He nudged the guy beside him who looked exceptionally irritated by him.

"I'm in an online game that battles mythical creatures," he whispered.

The guy widened his eyes dramatically and nodded his head before rolling his eyes and looking back to his girlfriend. Lydia smacked Stiles on the back of the head.

"Ow! Lydia-"

"Control yourself," Lydia whispered harshly.

Stiles craned his neck to look up at her. He raised his eyebrows at her and blinked stupidly. "You really think they give a shit what I'm talking about? I could talk about that woman I stole from the morgue last week and they wouldn't even blink."

Lydia held her breath, but no one around them reacted to what he was saying. They were smooching or flirting or laughing, some dangerously close to the fire.

"See?" Stiles said, and then he gave one really loud "ha!"

He bounced his plastic cup off her forehead and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to attack him. At least, the rational part of her was trying not to attack him, whereas the drunken part of her gave out a really horrifying snort of laughter.

And then she wouldn't stop when Stiles was giggling and nudging his head against her knee.

"Lydia," Stiles said, trying to stabilize himself again. He pulled himself on to the log beside her, dusting the dirt off his jeans. "You know, I never believed that _gingers don't have souls_ stuff, you know? You have a _big _soul...it's so _big_-"

Lydia leaned in next to him, brushing her lips against his ear as she whispered, "I'm strawberry blonde."

And then Stiles broke into laughter again, shaking with it as she nudged her head into his collarbone and grinned stupidly.

"You know there's fireworks tonight, right?" Lydia said while Stiles was wiping tears from his eyes.

"Fireworks. That'll be eventful," Stiles said, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

If Lydia wasn't so drunkenly happy at that point, she might have noticed a pull in her stomach.

Like an elastic band.

A feeling so uncannily similar to what she felt back at the graveyard, when the Darach let her go.

Only now, it was coming back.


	11. Fireworks

**Author's Note: I just wanted to let you guys know that the Darach in this story is only ****_based _****off the idea of what Lydia saw in the fire at the motel. This Darach is ****_not _****Jennifer, and it is really an entirely different creature than the one in the show. So yeah - same name, same appearance, different powers (and probably different motives too.) Okay, that's all! Again, I cannot express my love to all of you. You're so devoted and kind and your reviews give me wings. Thank you, and enjoy!**

* * *

Lydia and Stiles were practically sober by the time they were preparing the fireworks. They hadn't danced or socialized much, and Stiles turned down _three _girls who'd asked him to dance with them and their friends. They invited Lydia too, of course, but the way they smiled coyly and tilted their head at Stiles said that they were really only interested in his company.

And wasn't that a turn of events? Maybe they all still thought Lydia was the town nut job. Or maybe she just lost that spark of popularity of hers that kept her going through high school.

Either way, she found she didn't care, and she found herself smiling at her knees when Stiles politely turned them all away.

They were still sitting on their log by the fire that someone was trying desperately to keep aflame with various pieces of garbage and sticks. Lydia figured he must have been one of the guys running this whole thing, considering he looked completely flustered and sweat was beading on his forehead despite the cool air.

Lydia sighed and closed her eyes, her head still leaning against Stiles' shoulder. She was tired, though she hardly moved at all tonight. Then again, tired was becoming more of a character trait than a provisional feeling for Lydia.

One of Stiles' hands was around her waist and the other was gripping the material of his pants on his thigh. The alcohol in his system was becoming less potent, and therefore Stiles was becoming more agitated.

"I don't understand why he's not answering," Stiles said quietly. She could feel the vibration of his voice under her cheek when she spoke, and she felt guilty when it relaxed her. She shouldn't feel relaxed when Stiles was so on edge.

"Maybe his phone's dead?" Lydia suggested weakly. She didn't know how to make this better. She silently wished Scott would just answer his phone and give them both some piece of mind.

She felt Stiles shake his head. "He knows better than to do this to me. You know, we're living like we've got the barrel of a shotgun glued to our heads at all time and he thinks it's okay to just leave me in the dark?"

Lydia sat up and let Stiles' arm fall from around her. She shifted on the log and squeezed his hand, looking him in the eyes. Only half his face was lit by the fire, and though there was music still blasting and kids still piling about, there was a sort of intimacy and sensuality about the lighting that blocked everything else out.

"You wanna go?" She asked softly, only loud enough to be heard over the music. "Find Scott?"

Stiles' mouth opened to respond, but his eyes were searching her face back and forth and there was guilt painted on his own. Finally, he shook his head quickly.

"No. There's nothing I can do for him, anyway, right? I mean, if something _did _happen..." he trailed off and Lydia could see his throat working, like he couldn't swallow properly. "If something happened and I showed up to help, they'd just kill me too."

Lydia knew immediately that Stiles didn't believe a word he was saying. He was only saying it for her benefit.

His best friend could be dead for all he knew, and he wasn't leaving a stupid party to look for him because of _her. _

Lydia was appalled at herself when she laughed. Just a small, short laugh. She looked down and away from him. She didn't know why she laughed or what it meant, only that it may have been caused by hysteria. She tried to abstain herself and to choose one of the thousands of words floating around in her head that she could have said right then.

"Stiles, let's go look for him," she said simply, still not looking at him.

"Lydia-"

"Do you think I want this for you?" she said, her voice barely making it above a whisper. She whipped her gaze around to look at him and hoped to god there weren't tears in her eyes. "Stiles, I only brought you here because I thought maybe we could do something normal for once. I was just kidding myself into thinking that maybe things would go back to the way they used to be...or, you know, a _version _of the way things used to be."

Stiles shook his head and moved closer to her on the log. Oh, God. Oh, _God. _Had she really just said something to make him think _she _was the one who needed comforting? Was she really going to burden Stiles with the unfortunate little girl act right now? She didn't want this. She didn't mean for him to feel bad for her-

Oh God, she fucked it up. She just needed to _tell_ him-

"Stiles, stop," she said firmly. She forced herself to look directly at him and push her hand out so that he didn't come any closer to her.

He looked down at her hand and then to her face with some kind of pain in his eyes that she didn't want to think about-

"_Stop,_" she whispered. She just wanted that word to be implanted in his head for once to tell him that he didn't need to do this. He didn't need to constantly be the one to comfort and alleviate the pain of those around him and _for once _he could just think of what _he _wanted and what _he _needed. Fuck, _for once _he could stop throwing himself in front of the train for everyone else because one day he'd be crushed for good and he wouldn't get back up again.

She told him this with one single look and Stiles fell back slowly, his chest rising and falling like it was the hardest thing he had to do. He was watching her in the firelight and she could see how hard it was for him to keep the distance between them and how much he didn't understand.

But then he nodded. He gave one fluttering blink and swallowed.

"Let's go find Scott," he said, his voice cracking just a little.

Lydia let her hand drop and she nodded too, getting up from the log.

When Stiles got up from the log, it was like he'd stepped on a landmine. It happened immediately and all at once. A firework went off, and it flew into the air like fireworks do but it wasn't high enough, and there was loud piercing scream from somewhere as the music cut off.

Lydia looked up at the green and red streaks in the air that should have went so much higher, and then it was like she was paralyzed when she watched it fall back down. She was hypnotized by it. It was right above her, and it still hadn't made that loud crackling sound that it should have, which meant-

Stiles had a vice-like grip around her stomach and pulled her back violently until they both hit the ground. Right where Lydia was standing, the firework exploded on the ground and she could feel heat so close it was almost singeing her skin. The sound burst her eardrums until she couldn't hear anything but a piercing whine, and Stiles was pulling her arm until she got up off the ground. He was staring at the sky with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide and terrified. Lydia knew that the fireworks were tampered with and were malfunctioning until they were acting like gunshots and explosions in the crowd.

Stiles was pulling her away from the bonfire and Lydia's eyes were locked on the crowds of teenagers around them screaming and running and pushing others to the ground to get away from the beach. She felt her stomach surge when a crowd of them went down as a green firework exploded on the ground beside them.

She didn't think she could move if Stiles hadn't been there, yelling something that she couldn't hear and tugging at her until she ran with him. They were moving toward the parking lot and Lydia was looking behind her at all the people that were collapsing or panicking and she found she couldn't close her mouth and her eyes couldn't produce enough tears to express the horror churning in her stomach.

And then something happened that made her blood run cold.

The fireworks fizzled out. Every single person on the beach, even those who fell to the ground, were suddenly standing shock still and Lydia planted her feet in the sand until Stiles was forced to turn around too.

They were staring at them. Each pair of eyes was pointed toward her and Stiles, and everybody on the beach seemed paralyzed in the same standing position.

The bonfire had died like someone had poured an a thousand gallon bucket of water on it and they were all left in the moonlight. The teenagers were mere shadows, and Lydia couldn't tell if the silence in her ears was due to the bomb or the fact that the world was standing still.

It was her and Stiles standing side by side, and she forced herself to tear her gaze away from the people and up at Stiles.

His face would haunt her for the rest of her life. There it was - that impending doom she had felt during the entire party, and it was plastered on to Stiles' face. The face of pure terror. His eyes were filled with something Lydia couldn't name and there were tears there. His hair was windblown, but there was no more wind.

The elastic band in her stomach was being stretched taut and she thought she would fall as she swayed on her feet and tried to take a breath that wouldn't come.

"It's here," she forced out in a harsh whisper. Her voice came out crystal clear in her ears, and she knew it was impossible for her hearing to clear up so fast but it wasn't exactly possible for hundreds of people to be possessed by the same, _awful_ thing all at the same time-

She screamed. No, it wasn't a scream. It was more of a wail that she couldn't control, a sound that stabbed the atmosphere and could be heard in space, and it was coming out of her mouth without her consent - a rushing, breathtaking noise louder than the voices of a thousand men.

Stiles was grabbing her as she sunk to her knees screaming because she _had _to and he was shuttering with fear and horror and whatever else she saw in his eyes only moments ago, and he squeezed her tight even when the sound she was making cut off violently and every single person on the beach crumpled to ground.

She gasped, trying to take in a breath and she slumped while Stiles' held her in the sand.

She didn't want to check. She didn't want to know.

But she knew Stiles wouldn't walk away from the beach without knowing, and when he gently removed himself from her with shaking hands and walked toward the hundreds of students lying still on the sand, he looked like a man walking towards the gallows.

She watched, heaving for breath, as Stiles bent down and pressed two fingers to a girl's neck. She couldn't see his expression in the dark. He moved toward another one. And another. Checking enough to make sure because if enough were dead or enough were alive, there was no use checking each and every one of them.

This was supernatural damage. There was no picking and choosing.

Either they all survived, or they all died.

Finally, Stiles came back, and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest if he didn't tell her _right now-_

"They're alive," he said.

Lydia closed her eyes against the urge to collapse from relief.

Stiles stayed standing and looked down at her, and his face was cold and haunted. "It's the Darach isn't it?"

Lydia simply nodded and realized that she could hardly blink with the shock flooding her veins.

"So...so what-?" his voice shook when he spoke and tried again. "Was that some kind of...some kind of warning? I mean, can you still feel it? Can you feel what it wants or-"

"It's angry. I can only guess that somehow it knew we tricked it and now..."

"Now what, Lydia?" Stiles asked urgently.

"It's not just using _you_ as leverage anymore, Stiles. And if I don't do what it wants this time or...or if I don't figure something out then I think...I think Beacon Hills is going to become a giant massacre."

* * *

They had made a vague and anonymous phone call to the police about the kids at the beach, and they sure weren't going to stick around to explain how hundreds of them ended up lying in the sand, unconscious in the dark.

Lydia insisted that it wasn't safe for Stiles to drive. He was angry, he was upset, he was in shock...he shouldn't have been driving. But he ignored her, and he got into the car, waited for Lydia to get in and drove away before she even had time to shut the door behind her.

They didn't say a word as they drove, and Lydia just prayed that Stiles would be careful, though she knew he would. Despite his blinding anger and fear, Lydia knew he wouldn't jeopardize her life if the whole world was on fire.

Stiles pulled into Scott's driveway and practically threw himself out of the car. Lydia struggled to keep up and tried to maintain her composure because she knew Stiles had one foot out the door to a full-blown meltdown, and he was scaring her.

He jammed his finger into the doorbell and rubbed a hand over his face while he waited, obviously trying to control himself. She knew he didn't want to freak out. She knew he was doing everything he could to keep going right now, and that was all she was going to expect from him.

Melissa answered the door in her pajamas and a house coat, squinting like they'd just woken her.

"Where's Scott?" Stiles demanded.

"Stiles-?"

"Please," Stiles said, his voice cracking. He rubbed a hand over his face again and closed his eyes when he spoke. "Please just tell me where he is."

Melissa looked over at Lydia but Lydia just bit the inside of her cheek and tried to convey an encouraging look towards the woman. _Just tell him. Please just tell him. _

Melissa looked back at Stiles hesitantly and stuttered for a few seconds. "He-uh. He's at the vet's office with Derek, I think. At least that's what he said a few hours ago. Stiles-"

"Thanks," Stiles said, and the word wasn't genuine or meaningful at all, but Lydia knew Stiles felt bad for the harshness of his tone. He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something to her.

"Are you okay?" Melissa asked quietly.

Stiles looked away, busying himself with examining the brick walls of Scott's house. He had rushed all the way over here and now something about Melissa was dropping the walls of determination and anger that he had surrounded himself with and now all that was showing was the fear of a 17 year old boy in a situation way over his head.

But he didn't act on it. "I have to go."

He turned away hurriedly, and Lydia expected Melissa to drop it and go back to bed, but she spoke up before Stiles could even get down the stairs.

"You told me you'd let me know if you were in trouble," she said, and she caught Lydia's eye as she turned around. "Both of you _promised _me you would tell me what was going on."

Lydia looked back at Stiles and she knew he thought she couldn't see him when he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip so hard it looked like he was about to draw blood.

The biggest part of Lydia at that moment - the one closest to the surface of everything going on - told her that they couldn't endanger Melissa by telling her. Another part of her though, the one she may have believed just a little more, told her that Melissa could help. She was human just like them, no more vulnerable than the two of them, and with a lot more training in medicine and first aid. God knows that could be incredibly useful.

So she picked a part of her, and she acted on it. "Stiles," she said, reaching for his shoulder.

Stiles looked up at her with wide eyes. She had expected his eyes to burn a hole right through her to shut her up because how could she even _think _about putting Melissa in danger. But there was a question there. He was asking her.

He was looking to her for a push in the right direction. His resolve was crumbling, his judgment was clouding, and Stiles had enough brains to know that he needed help calling the shots now.

Lydia swallowed. She nodded to him, and Stiles took in a breath and turned around, looking to Melissa who was standing in the doorway with her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"We'll tell you everything," Stiles said. "But first you have to help us find Scott."

* * *

**Author's Note: Yup, I brought Melissa back. And she's probably gonna stick around for a while, since you guys really loved her in my other chapters. Plus, Mama McCall was totally badass with the defibrillator paddles at the hospital in 3x10. She totally kicked some alpha twin ass. Kay, that is all - let me know what you think and see you next chapter! **


	12. Achilles' Heel

"Scott?" Stiles called the moment they stepped into the vet's office.

He was leading the way, checking behind the front desk as if Scott was crouching behind it, and running to the examination room with his sneakers squeaking across the floor. Lydia and Melissa rushed to catch up, giving each other looks when Scott didn't respond.

As Stiles entered the room, he practically ran into Scott, who pushed his hands out so Stiles didn't run head long into him.

"Stiles? What are you doing here?" Scott asked, and his gaze moved behind Stiles, to Lydia and then to his mom. His eyes widened.

"Mom? What the hell-?"

"She can help," Stiles said hurriedly, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.

Scott shook his head vigorously, realization dawning on him."What? No, Stiles-"

Melissa cleared her throat, and every face in the room moved toward her.

"I think I can decide for myself if I want to be here or not," she said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Lydia couldn't help but agree. From what she'd seen, Melissa McCall was a _very _capable woman.

Scott was about to protest some more, but Stiles cut him off. "Look, we have a lot more important problems right now, Scott. We need help."

Scott gave one last look at his mom, who raised her eyebrows at him. The werewolf sighed and looked to Stiles reluctantly. "What is it?"

"You might wanna sit down," Stiles said.

* * *

Lydia knew she'd have to help Stiles explain everything. He was already falling apart at the seams, sitting on the examination table waiting for Allison, Isaac, Derek - who apparently had been there the whole time, lurking in the shadows and brooding - and _Peter fucking Hale _to get settled in with Scott and Melissa, leaning against the wall.

They all had to be there, of course. These were the people who would help them, and she and Stiles didn't want to have to explain all of this a thousand times over. Once was enough.

Lydia leaned against the examination table beside Stiles. It was strange facing all of these people and having them look at her like she had all the answers. She was so used to just tagging along, being left in the dark and being pushed out of harm's way.

Now, they were the ones in the dark, and she was the one to pull them out.

Stiles sighed. "I'm assuming you told Derek all about your ambush on the Darach," Stiles asked Scott, his voice flat.

Scott nodded, and Derek gave a nod to validate his response.

"Alright, Melissa, you're gonna have to bear with us here. We don't have time to explain everything, but you'll catch on," Stiles said, and Melissa gave an understanding nod.

Stiles looked down and opened his mouth to start, but instead ended up looking to Lydia. Her stomach did a little flip in her stomach. She was nervous. Why was she nervous? These were her friends.

Derek Hale was her friend. Peter Hale was a, uhm, colleague. At least, she was forced to think of it this way considering they were going to be spending a lot of time together for the next few...days, or weeks, or months, depending how long it takes.

Ah, look how far they've come.

She swallowed. "So, as you've probably come to realize... the Darach is after me. Not to kill me, obviously. I think it's attempting to make me..." she swallowed again, and found herself looking anywhere but the eyes of the people in front of her. "To make me join them."

"How so?" Derek asked.

Lydia took a breath. "They want me to kill another. Someone innocent, someone _pure_. It's some sort of sick initiation process."

"Long story short, we tried to trick it into thinking Lydia_ did_ sacrifice someone - which had some unfortunate side effects..." Stiles swallowed and the people in the room who experienced the graveyard incident shifted uncomfortably. "But, uh, yeah, for the past week we thought it worked in the end. Until earlier tonight."

This was the part neither of them wanted to speak of ever again.

It was Lydia who stole the reigns though, because Stiles looked like he had trouble opening his mouth.

"Stiles and I went to the bonfire tonight-"

"Oh, wait, so are you two like a thing now?" Isaac asked, uncrossing an arm and pointing to them with his index and middle finger.

Lydia looked at him with a furrowed brow, incredulous. Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and shook his head, probably wondering why he chose the absolute worst time in the world to ask that question. The rest of the room just sort of glared at him.

Isaac looked at the floor. He looked like an oversized child who'd just gotten scolded. "Sorry. Go on."

"So, uhm," Lydia cleared her throat and hoped she wasn't blushing after that interruption. "We were about to leave to go look for Scott when the fireworks basically went berzerk and started firing into the crowd."

"Was everyone okay?" Allison asked, concerned.

Stiles and Lydia gave each other a look before Stiles spoke up.

"Well, that's where it gets kind of, uhm...strange."

It was Lydia's turn again. After all, she could explain it best. Stiles hadn't felt what Lydia felt- and he hadn't screamed like she had.

"I turned around for a split second and it was just...it was like the world froze. The fire went out, the fireworks just disappeared and the people...they were all standing there. Just staring at us like- like they were possessed."

"Possession? That's not possible," Derek said. Lydia was surprised that it came from him - a guy who'd been a werewolf since birth.

"It already happened to Stiles," Lydia said before she could stop herself, and every head in the room whipped towards him. They were going to be there for days explaining everything that had happened.

Stiles cleared his throat. Lydia knew that he was not one to be uncomfortable with having all eyes on him, but in this case, he looked beyond distressed.

"When we summoned it the first time it kind of- I dunno, it used me to talk to Lydia."

"How come you never told any of us about this?" Derek asked.

Stiles made an exasperated noise and splayed his hands out. "Look, we're telling you now, okay? It doesn't even matter anymore-"

"Doesn't matter?" Peter spoke up, moving forward. "You don't think the tiny matter of this thing being able to _possess humans _would be important? It could get a hold of the entire town-"

"_That's _what we're trying to tell you if you would just _listen_," Stiles said.

Lydia spoke before anyone else could interrupt. "We think that it knows we deceived it, and if I don't do what it wants this time, it's not just going to use my friends as bargaining chips. It's going to use the entire town."

No one said a word as they let that sink in.

Lydia continued. "The kids at the bonfire survived. They were all unconscious when we left, but we called the cops-"

"You called the cops?" Derek exclaimed.

Stiles hopped off the table and stepped towards Derek. "What the fuck else were we supposed to do? We couldn't just leave them there and we didn't have time to check if everyone was alive-"

"You should have told us from the beginning, Stiles. I know you like to think you can, but you _can't _handle this on your own," Scott said. Lydia knew Scott only meant well, but she was sure that Scott's tone of voice must have registered as completely patronizing to Stiles, because he turned to him slowly.

"No? You don't think we can handle this? Listen, I don't know what the hell you were doing in here all night, but Lydia and I have been dealing with a lot more shit than you seem to understand," he spat.

Lydia could hardly breathe. They were biting each other's heads off and Lydia could see something raw and insidious growing inside of Stiles that she didn't like at all.

Scott continued, looking shocked at Stiles' outburst. "Stiles, you're human. You could die-"

"So could you, Scott! And you can't even _answer your phone _when all night I've been thinking you were _dead-_"

"I was _busy!_" Scott was yelling too now.

Stiles face slackened and the room went painfully silent. Then he was smiling and shaking his head, incredulous. He looked away and put a hand over his mouth.

"You were _busy,_" he mumbled to himself.

And then, all at once, he pulled an arm back and punched Scott across the jaw, causing shocked outbursts from around the room that Lydia couldn't concentrate on, because Scott was looking back up now and his eyes were yellow and his teeth were fangs-

Scott snarled and shoved Stiles until his back hit the examination table, and Lydia yelled _"Stop!"_

Stiles seemed to momentarily forget about the fact that Scott was turning into a werewolf with anger directed straight at him, and he gripped the table and kicked Scott in the chest. The blow only pissed Scott off more, and he hurled himself forward too fast for anyone to act, and dragged his claws across the side of Stiles' neck.

Derek was already changing and moving towards them but someone got to them first.

"Enough!" Melissa shouted, and suddenly she was standing between the two boys with her arms outstretched. "That's enough."

Scott morphed back to human almost immediately, and Stiles pressed a hand to his neck, shocked. Lydia was relieved to see that there was only a little blood leaking through his fingers and Scott hadn't hit anything vital.

The werewolves were all human now, standing in fighting stances around them. Allison was standing with tears in her eyes and her mouth in a tight line, obviously hating her friends fighting like this just as much as Lydia did.

She felt a sense of deterioration, like something around her was crumbling, falling apart at the seams.

"Let me see," Melissa said to Stiles, her voice calm.

"It's fine," Stiles said, breathing hard.

"Stiles," Melissa insisted.

He removed his hand and let her take a look at the wound. Four claws had grazed him, breaking the skin from the side of his neck right over to his throat. It bled slowly and in small amounts but it kept coming as Melissa searched around for bandages.

Scott was stepping back, his mouth parted and his eyes wide, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he breathed, and the apology was genuine and full of guilt.

Stiles had his head down, but he looked up at Scott with his eyes, no longer angry. There was only sadness there now, and Lydia wondered if Stiles could feel it too. The deterioration.

He pressed his lips together and gave Scott a small nod that said he forgave him and he understood, but he didn't say anything back.

Melissa came back with a cotton bandage that was meant for animals, and she pressed it to Stiles' neck, speaking as she taped it down. "Now, if we're going to beat this - this Darach thing, then we're going to need everyone, do you understand?" Melissa said with burning determination that only a mother could have. Her hair was falling in her face and she struggled to put the bandage on Stiles and look at everyone in the room at the same time. Stiles grabbed her hand and gave her a nod that she took as a sign that he could do the bandaging himself, and she stepped back.

"I don't think it's going to be enough," Isaac spoke up. "I saw it that night at the graveyard. It was like it was indestructible- it's stronger than all of us put together."

Lydia watched as Melissa kept her eyes on the boys, looking between them and obviously wondering where and when this friendship went wrong today.

"It may be powerful, but I'm willing to bet it doesn't have nearly as much brain power as we do. We've got-" Melissa looked around the room doing a quick count, "We've got eight people, including myself. And one of them's a genius."

She gave a pointed look at Lydia, and Lydia blushed. Melissa smiled knowingly.

"She's right," Derek said. "We can't overpower it on strength alone, but we can outsmart it somehow. We're going to have to kill it."

Scott spoke up, turning away from Stiles with guilt still on his face. "How? Brains or not, this thing is still unkillable."

"Nothing's unkillable. If that's even a word," Peter added under his breath. He sighed. "We just have to find its weak spot. Its Achilles' heel."

"It's Lydia," Stiles spoke up, one arm holding the bandage in place while the other was wrapped around his torso, like he was hugging himself. Everyone looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Lydia is its weak spot," Stiles explained. "I mean, that's why it's here. That's why it's doing all of this is because it wants Lydia to join it. You guys ripped the thing apart and shot arrows in its face back at the graveyard, but Lydia was the one who made it disappear just by speaking Latin."

Lydia knew Stiles was only trying to explain the ways in which Lydia was the Darach's weakness, but it still felt like he was glorifying her in some way, and she felt self-conscious. He still believed in her, and he was trying to get the others to believe in her too.

"What are you suggesting?" Isaac asked. He seemed intrigued by what Stiles was saying, and Lydia could swear he had looked at her like he was genuinely impressed with her.

Stiles didn't speak for a moment, looking over to Lydia like he was seeing her for the first time. Every time he looked at her, it felt like this. Like he was peeling a new layer off of her and discovering something about her that no one else would ever know.

She wondered what he was seeing in her now as she stood there with her arms crossed, frightened and exhausted and wearing a silly green party dress.

He looked away from her and back at the others. "I'm just saying that if there's anyone who knows how to kick this thing off the face of the earth, it's Lydia."

Lydia gave him a small smile from under her lashes. She realized that everyone was looking at her, waiting for her to speak. The smile wiped from her face and she put her hands out defensively.

"Listen, I don't know how it works. This connection I have with it. I-I can't just turn it on and off-"

"Lydia, it's okay," Allison said, moving toward her friend. She put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a small, thin-lipped smile.

Lydia nodded, feeling like she wanted to fold in on herself with all of these people suddenly counting on her. They'd give her time. They'd give her time to find out whatever there was to find out about the Darach, and then they'd _listen _to her.

She was the chief of this operation now. Stiles' eyes said it all, and the spark of fear that was fraying her nerves was a good indication as well.

She took a deep breath. "I do know that we have to figure out a plan right away. We have to trap it somehow, and that won't be easy. We've deceived it once before, and it's angry now. It'll expect us to play tricks on it."

"Well, then, I guess we'll just have to regain its trust," Peter said.

He didn't elaborate, and no one bothered to ask. They'd figure it out soon enough.

The room was quiet, and Scott seemed to be trying to bite his tongue, but it didn't work. He turned to Melissa. "Mom-"

Melissa held out a hand and spoke firmly. "No. Nuh-uh. Let me get something straight right now - _none of you _are getting rid of me. I'm in this now and you're all psychotic if you think I'm going to go back after all of this."

That was it on that subject. No one dared to argue, though Scott looked severely displeased with that statement.

Lydia cleared her throat. "Stiles, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Stiles looked just as confused as the rest of the people in the room, but he obliged, following her out of the room, out of the vet's office and into the parking lot.

She sighed, turning to face him. "Are you okay?"

Stiles shrugged. "It's just a scratch-"

"No. No, that's not what I meant."

Stiles slumped a little and licked his lips, looking away. It was still dark out, and Lydia guessed it was around 4 in the morning as they stood under a streetlight, the small breeze blowing their hair into their faces.

"Lydia-"

"Please, just tell me the truth," she begged quietly.

Stiles looked at her, grinding his teeth. His brow was furrowed with some kind of pain that she wasn't quite sure she understood, but she wanted to. She just wanted him to open up to her. It wasn't fair when she was an open book to him what with his miraculous power to analyze her, and he was still an ancient vault, locked and bolted for years.

"I..." Stiles started, and then he took a deep breath. His voice was a whisper. "I don't know why I did that. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"I think you know," Lydia said softly. "I think you know that this is too much, and that Scott's right. You can't keep trying to do this alone anymore."

Stiles closed his eyes at that, like he was wishing she wouldn't say those words. He looked like he desperately wanted to cry. She grabbed his hands, much like she did back at her room all those hours ago, but with more sincerity than she'd ever shown anyone.

"I brought Melissa here even though I knew it was the last thing Scott ever wanted-"

"Do you remember what you said back at the hospital? In the office?"

Stiles opened his eyes and looked up at her, like he was surprised she'd even remembered. He knew exactly what she was talking.

"You called her mom, Stiles. I know it wasn't just a slip-up," Lydia said, rubbing her thumbs in circles on his hands and stepping closer.

Stiles shook his head. "Wha-what are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that you know her just as well as Scott does, and I think you love her too," she whispered. She let that sink in for a moment, in case he needed a second to truly realize that. "You wouldn't have let her come today if you didn't think it was right."

Stiles just stared at her, and then he looked down at their hands and took a deep breath, nodding.

"Just let us help you, Stiles. Okay? Let them take care of themselves this time."

There it was. What she had wanted to say at the bonfire. She truly hoped her message had come across this time, underneath this streetlight with his hands in hers.

_Take care of yourself. _

So she kissed him like she had back at Scott's house, taking her hands away and putting them on each side of his face instead. He kissed her back like she was a lifeline, and she let him take whatever strength he needed from her. He let his hands trace down her face and neck. After so many times Stiles had put his life in front of hers and kept her safe, it was her turn to be there for him, and she knew that. She was the strong one now.

It was her and the Darach.

They broke apart, and Lydia leaned her head against his chest. "You ready?" she whispered, breathless.

She wasn't sure what she meant by the question. Ready for what? Ready for whatever mission they were cooking up back in the vet's office? Ready for whatever danger lay ahead of them?

But it didn't matter, because Stiles had an answer, and Lydia knew it was the truth.

"I'm ready."

* * *

**Author's Note: There you go readers! I'd like to hear your thoughts on my characterization in this chapter, because I've been feeling a little iffy about it and I really do like to know what you think so that I can improve. Especially this darker side of Stiles, because we've never really seen him so angry in the show, so I wasn't sure how to go about it. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I'm off to start the next chapter. :) **


	13. Sacrifice

Lydia felt confident that she had alleviated some of the horrible things Stiles was feeling, though she hadn't really figured out what those horrible feelings _were_, exactly. Stiles still hadn't opened up to her, but she wouldn't push him when he was so close to cracking.

Everyone in the vet's clinic had decided against sleep. Lydia had insisted that there was no time to waste; that the Darach was extremely angry and wouldn't wait for them.

Lydia wished she knew what the Darach was planning. She could feel its anger, and she knew that it would go after every living person in Beacon Hills to get Lydia to do what it wanted. But somehow, she felt that this wasn't just about Lydia sacrificing someone for them - this was something more; something much more complex and a lot harder to fix.

Lydia jumped when Stiles re-entered the Jeep. She was completely on edge, expecting the Darach to strike at any moment and in any way. She hated feeling so helpless and blind when this thing was looming over them in a fighting stance, ready to kill until it got what it wanted. It wanted something from _Lydia. _

The pressure on her shoulders was overwhelming.

They were pulled into a small gas station, the florescent lights from inside the 24 hour convenience store shining into the Jeep and illuminating everyone's face in an eerie, sickly way. Stiles shut the door and slammed a 12 pack of Red Bull on the dashboard, throwing a glance at Lydia, and then at Allison and Isaac in the backseat.

"Jesus," Isaac said under his breath.

"What?" Stiles said. He shrugged. "Harmless refreshments."

"Somehow I don't think you and Red Bull are a smart mix," Isaac said.

Stiles ripped open the packaging and tossed one back to Isaac and another to Allison.

"Tonight, Red Bull is our friend," he whispered, and then he turned back to Lydia and raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the Red Bull.

Lydia shook her head and spoke quietly. "I'm already agitated enough."

She could tell she had already lowered the mood with that statement. Not that the mood was soaring high in the first place, but she knew she crushed the others' attempts at making it a little more light-hearted.

"Lydia, do you feel anything?" Allison asked quietly.

Lydia looked back at Allison using the side mirror, and she saw the hope in the girl's eyes. She decided to throw them all a bone and close her eyes, trying to feel...something. Anything.

When she concentrated, she became quite aware of the pulling in her stomach that had come back since the bonfire. It was there, attaching her to the Darach and allowing her to feel a second-hand anger throughout her that didn't reach her heart. An anger she _knew_ wasn't hers.

But that was it. Anger. Not even an inkling of an idea where it was headed or what it was planning or what it was doing. Just searing, unadulterated anger.

She let out a long breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. "No. Nothing."

She felt the disappointment of the others as they all stared at her with dimming hope, but she tried to pay it no attention. She knew it wasn't directed at her - only at this connection that she shared with the Darach.

"That's okay," Stiles said. He put his hands on the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. "That's okay; we'll just stick to the plan and see what happens, right?"

Stiles hated the plan. Everybody hated the plan, really, but Lydia knew that Stiles_ loathed_ it. Feared it, even. She knew by the way his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel and his face looked pale in the night. She knew by the way he was trying to look calm and make casual conversation when his eyes told a whole different story.

He put the car in gear and drove off. Lydia heard a startling crushing noise and looked behind her just as Isaac threw his empty and deformed Red Bull can to the front of the car. It landed on the dashboard and Isaac leaned his head back with a sigh.

Lydia rolled her eyes and looked back to the front. She vaguely wondered where Allison and Isaac were at in their relationship, because there was _major _sexual tension between them. Then again, there was also sexual tension between_ Scott_ and Allison, but Lydia knew that that would probably still be there when they were eighty years old and meeting up at bingo night.

She was just trying to distract herself from the direction they were heading in and what she knew she would have to do tonight.

She just hoped it would be worth it. _Please, God, let it be worth it. _

"_Turn right in one kilometer," _said the crisp female voice of Stiles' GPS.

Lydia saw as Stiles' brow furrowed at the GPS.

"I don't think that's right," he said, shaking his head.

"Did you put in the right address?" Allison asked.

"_Yes_, I put in the right address. I don't think I could ever forget the name of that place if I tried," Stiles said darkly.

"Well, maybe-" Allison started, but there was a surge in Lydia's stomach and she cut her off.

"No, he's right, it's wrong," Lydia said.

"How do you know?" Isaac asked.

"I just know! Stiles, don't take that turn. Keep going straight," Lydia said, her voice hard.

Stiles looked at her, but he didn't question her. He kept going, and the GPS announced that it was _recalculating. _

Five minutes later without any turns or interruptions from the GPS, they rolled passed their destination and Lydia gripped the door as Stiles swerved into the parking lot. He screeched to a stop and they all sat in silence for a moment before Lydia turned to Stiles and put a hand on his shoulder.

"You might wanna get a new GPS," she whispered smugly. She sucked in her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows as he struggled with the small machine and threw it out the window, frustrated. She fought the urge to laugh.

They all piled out of the car, and Lydia was hit with the same unnerving feeling as she was the last time she was here, though this time it had nothing to do with her supernatural abilities. This was her natural human reaction to the place, considering all that happened here.

Motel Glen Capri. She was sure that having their plan unfold here would work best, considering this was the first place she saw the Darach - the first time it established its connection with her.

This was where she would offer herself to the Darach. Its final sacrifice.

Of course, her friends assured her that they would be ready when it tried to take her, and they would not let it get the chance to kill her. Or take her. Or do whatever it needed to do with her. They were going to be there, lurking in the shadows where the Darach couldn't see them, and then they would strike.

Peter had said they needed to regain its trust, and that was the hardest part of the plan. They had ambushed the thing before and that's exactly what they were planning to do again, and so Lydia needed to convince it that this was real, and that this wasn't another trick. She needed to convince it that she genuinely wanted to sacrifice herself for the dark, hooded being that haunted her.

If she failed, the Darach would have had enough. It would kill her friends, and it would kill the entire town.

She needed to do this right.

Another vehicle pulled up beside them containing Derek, Peter, Scott, Melissa and Dr. Deaton. Lydia, Stiles, Allison and Isaac made their way towards them until everyone was standing together by Derek's car with an excruciating amount of tension amongst them.

For once, Lydia wasn't the only one who felt the awful sense of foreboding that came whenever they had a _plan. _

"Are you ready, Lydia?" Peter asked, awkwardly breaking the silence.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him and spoke in a venomous voice. "Like you care if I live or die?"

Peter was about to speak, but Derek put a hand on Lydia's arm and pulled her back. "Look, we _really_ don't have time for this."

She shook him off and folded her arms. Derek continued.

"You can deal with your crap later," he said pointedly, looking at Peter who lifted his hands defensively and stepped back.

"There's something I don't get," Stiles spoke up. He turned to Dr. Deaton. "Last time you said that the Darach could feel if Lydia was up to something, like it would have known that Lydia was stealing a body to deceive it if she hadn't drunk that potion stuff. Why is this time any different?"

Dr. Deaton puffed out his bottom lip and looked around dramatically. "I don't see anything suspicious about a few friends stopping at a motel for the night. Do you?"

"Well I'm sure Lydia isn't exactly thinking rainbows and sunshine right now. Can't it feel whatever she's feeling?" Stiles asked.

"Lydia said it herself - the connection is not as strong as it was before. She can only feel its anger, because it's too distracted. Believe me, it's not listening in right now. I feel that it will be tough trying to get it here this time, because it's too angry to hear the summoning," Dr. Deaton explained.

Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "This- I don't know about this. There is no way we can convince this thing that we're not going to ambush it again."

"I can," Lydia said quietly. "Stiles, I can. Just trust me."

"I trust _you_. I'm just not sure if I trust this _plan_. I mean, this was mostly his idea anyway," Stiles said, motioning to Peter. "And he's been a douche bag from the beginning."

"I agree," Melissa said, putting a hand up. She looked at Peter with contempt - a brave expression to wear in the face of a werewolf.

Everyone looked over to Peter with consideration, because they all knew it was the truth. Peter rolled his eyes. "Look, why would I have any reason to want to put Lydia in danger? There's no motive. You all know that."

_That_ was also the truth. Peter never did anything without a reason - something Lydia learned from uncomfortable personal experience. But who knew what was going on in his mind? There could be motive there that no one in this circle of humans and werewolves alike were aware of.

"You want me to leave? I'll leave," Peter said, placing a hand on the car door handle for emphasis.

"No!" Derek said. "No. We can't keep standing around here waiting for it to realize what we're up to. Lydia, are you ready?"

Everybody turned to look at Lydia, and they each wore different expressions. Some were concerned. Some were encouraging. Others, she may have seen a little hint of skepticism under, because this was Lydia Martin - the girl who used to refuse to go anywhere without reapplying her lip gloss.

She could understand that. But she wasn't that girl anymore, and if she succeeded tonight, she hoped that they would all realize that.

Lydia nodded. She was ready, just as Stiles told her he was ready back under that streetlamp. She looked to him but he wasn't looking back at her. He was frowning. There were creases between his eyebrows that wouldn't go away and he looked more worried than she'd ever seen him look before. His hands were clenching and unclenching, constantly moving to keep himself busy and aware.

Lydia felt goosebumps on her skin as a chill went down her spine. It wasn't caused by anything supernatural, and it wasn't caused by the temperature. It was just what happened when she looked at Stiles like that, because somehow his expression made this plan all the more real.

She could die tonight. That was all that his expression said, and she knew the thought was attacking him like a plague because it was attacking her too. She could die tonight.

"Alright. You all know where to go," Derek said. "Do _not _do _anything _before I say so, no matter what happens."

He was looking very pointedly and very obviously at Stiles, and everyone knew why.

And then they were off. Even Melissa had a job to do, and though everybody was important to the plan, Lydia's job was the most vital. Its success was fundamental to the entire operation, because she was the bait.

And she was also going to deliver the final blow, because she was its Achilles' heel, wasn't she?

The only person left was Stiles, and he looked like he so desperately wanted to say something to her, but Derek had stopped feet away and was looking at him, waiting.

"I'll be okay, Stiles," Lydia said, but she regretted it immediately. Her voice was too quiet, and it cracked on his name. The words she hoped would reassure him turned into a kind of uncertain goodbye that darkened Stiles' eyes and made it all that much harder for Lydia when Derek was pulling him away. She opened her mouth again, but something was taking hold of her heart and she turned around with a hand on her mouth, staring in the direction she would have to go.

It was the hardest walk she ever had to make, but she knew the others were watching and she knew she had to look in control. Every step reverberated through her and threatened to take her knees out from underneath her. She felt as if she should want to cry, but her eyes were wide and dry as they were looking into the face of death.

She arrived at the very spot where the explosion had happened so many weeks ago. Where Stiles was going to sacrifice himself for Scott. Where Lydia was now going to sacrifice herself to the Darach.

She stood there, staring at where she remembered the face of the Darach in the fire. She thought of only the Darach, wiping her friends from her mind and concentrating on the fear she felt.

Lydia began the summoning spell, speaking it slowly but surely and willing her voice not to shake. Her words were so loud in the surrounding silence, making her feel more alone than ever. Good. She had to feel alone, because that was the Darach had to think.

She was alone. So very alone.

Dr. Deaton was right when he said it would take longer. She had recited the summoning spell twice before waiting it out, trying to feel the pull of the elastic in her stomach. Trying to break through the Darach's anger.

_I have a gift for you, you son of a bitch. _That was what she wanted to scream, because it physically pained her to play nice and innocent with the Darach, but she had to, of course.

She said the summoning spell one more time, but she was cut off by the feeling in her stomach. There it was, clear as day, the supernatural sign she was waiting for. It was coming.

Lydia couldn't be sure how it appeared. As usual, it would materialize out of thin air in the split second it took her to blink. It stood in front of her, right where the fire was, and they stared at each other for a moment.

She spoke to it in Latin. She told it what she was willing to do, and she felt how conflicted the Darach was by her statement. This wasn't what it was expecting.

It was_ better_ than it was expecting.

It made her feel strange to have such antonymous feelings running through her at once - the fear and hatred that belonged to her and the excitement and reverence that belonged to the Darach. The mix left a bad taste in her mouth, but as the Darach began to move toward her, she knew she succeeded in convincing it of her cause. Its threats had worked, and she was going to give herself up to it as long as all of Beacon Hills was safe from harm, and the Darach never returned again.

It was close to her now. The pull was becoming more intense, churning her stomach.

In fact, the pull was throughout her body now, forcing her arms up slowly and almost lifting her feet off the ground like she was getting ready to fly. She didn't know how it was going to kill her. She was a special sacrifice, and special sacrifices had special rituals-

The Darach has suddenly gotten so close, it was almost pressed against her like it was going to give her a hug. Her back arched, and something was forcing its way up her body, squeezing her insides and rendering her paralyzed. It was killing her, she knew it was, but it didn't hurt.

It was making her weak, like she was sure she would collapse if the Darach wasn't keeping her hovering in the air like this, just a little ways off the ground, and it was almost _peaceful-_

If her friends were going to save her, they were about to miss their window.

She choked, trying to speak, and the Darach's eyes widened and something spiked within its brain, because now it knew it was going to be deceived once again but it was _too late-_

Somebody screamed, and it wasn't her. It was a male, one she probably would have recognized if there weren't blood spurting from her mouth now like a knife was being dragged up her esophagus.

When someone slammed into her side and sent her crashing to the ground, allowing her to breathe again for a split second before the wind was knocked out of her, that's when the real chaos started.

Just like at the graveyard, Lydia heard arrows beginning to fly into the flesh of the Darach, and she was coughing and sputtering on the ground and someone was shielding her there and a certain, familiar scent told her it was Stiles.

"You've gotta kill it," he whispered frantically in her ear. "You've gotta be okay, Lydia, come on."

He was moving the hair from her face with shaking hands, still shielding her from anything and everything happening around them, and she knew she had to get up.

"Knife," she gasped, sounding like an old man for the lack of air in her lungs.

Stiles was already on that, putting the knife in her numb hand and curling her fingers around it. He squeezed her hand and it felt like everything Stiles was trying to tell her from the beginning. It felt like love.

She curled her fist into the material of Stiles' sweater and used it to pull herself up sluggishly. Someone misfired an arrow from the balcony of one of the motel rooms and Stiles had no choice but to roll away from her before it went through his skull. She collapsed to the ground again without him there, and Lydia and Stiles looked up to see what was happening around them.

Chaos.

Just like the graveyard.

They weren't going to succeed.

The only thing different about their plan this time was Lydia's final blow and she couldn't get up, she couldn't use her limbs-

Stiles was helping her up again, shielding his eyes from the white explosions that the arrows caused, blinding the Darach in its attempt to understand what was going on.

"Come on, Lydia," he grunted.

Lydia caught a glimpse of the Darach in her struggle to get to her feet and her rage began overpowering her fear and pain, sucking it up like a sponge and overwhelming her with the strength she needed.

She must have looked like a zombie, stumbling behind the Darach with the knife in her hand, her eyes wide and unblinking with the power of her anger. She couldn't get a proper access point to plunge her knife in, as Isaac was tearing into the Darach's side. She looked to Stiles, trying to tell him this, and somehow he'd become superman able to tear a werewolf off of the Darach and tackle him to the ground.

Lydia didn't wait to see what happened next before digging her knife into the Darach's back and hearing it wail. The arrows ceased flying, the werewolves ceased snarling, and Lydia was still pushing the knife in up to the hilt.

It made an unearthly sound that curdled her blood, but she kept leaning into it as if she was trying to become one with the Darach. It had to feel her. It had to feel her there, feel their connection breaking.

She looked over to Stiles on the ground, whose forehead was bleeding profusely as he marveled at the swaying and screaming Darach. She was reminded of all the things the Darach did to him, and how she felt when he died and how she felt back at the cafeteria when it hurt him and how she felt when it _possessed_ him, taking hold of a body that didn't belong to it.

Stiles fueled her anger, and she twisted the knife until the Darach couldn't even scream anymore.

This thing thought it had taken hold of her. It thought it could take her life like a prize, like a treasure. But it didn't matter anymore. Now it was time for another sacrifice. A sacrifice for Stiles, for her friends, for the whole of Beacon Hills.

The Darach was _her _sacrifice now.

* * *

**Author's Note: Phew. This chapter took a lot out of me. It's not over yet! I know the finale just aired, so there's going to be a looong hiatus. Hopefully I can prolong this for another few chapters, but do not fret when it ends. I'm sure I'll have more Stydia stories for you beautiful people soon enough.**


	14. Supernatural Damage

Lydia was familiar with pain. Physical and emotional alike, she knew the feeling like the back of her hand.

But she'd never felt pain in her _soul. _Her very core was throbbing when she stumbled back into someone's arms. They had the gentleness of a female's arms, and when the woman's hand came around to peel the knife from her grip and toss it to the ground, she knew it was Melissa.

Lydia's head lolled back into the woman's collarbone, as she no longer had control of her body. Melissa was laying her on the ground, holding her to her chest and looking over her, trying to tell her something. Her ears were muffled like she was underwater; the pounding of blood to her head was the only sound she could hear.

Whether it was death or unconsciousness, it could take her now. She would gratefully fall into a place where she no longer had to think of all she'd done and all that she would have to do. The fear she'd felt before was extinguished as the weight on her shoulders was mercifully lifted.

She still had her vision, but it was blurred and fading fast. She could see Stiles in his familiar red sweater, running over to her and crowding her face. He laid his hand on her forehead and she closed her eyes with it. Comfort. It was all she needed.

And then, all at once, the world around her disappeared and Lydia couldn't tell if she hoped it'd come back again.

* * *

Lydia felt disoriented when she woke up staring at a pale ceiling. She remembered voices, though she didn't know who they had belonged to. She remembered the gentle vibrations of a moving car beneath her body and her head in someone's lap. But she was perplexed, and she wanted to know where she was and what had happened-

The Darach was dead. It came back to her in overwhelming chunks of information forced into her vulnerable mind. Lydia had been hurt somehow, and as far as she knew, her friends were still alive.

They had to be alive, right?

"There we are!" said a male voice, sounding irritatingly chipper. His face appeared above her and he shined a light in her eyes. She forced her head away, but the man didn't seem to mind. "See? Everything's in order. We'll do a couple more tests just to make sure nothing's wrong, but I'm sure this young lady just needs some rest."

"Great news, doc," said a voice that Lydia recognized immediately. Her eyes widened as she whipped her head to the side to look at him. He seemed relaxed, leaning against the wall in the corner of the room with his arms crossed. He winked at her and she cringed and turned her gaze back at the ceiling, managing to grind her teeth even in her groggy state.

Peter. Who the hell let _Peter _bring her to a hospital?

"I'll be right back, alright? You two just sit tight," said the doctor, and he made his way out of the room with a smile on his face.

Lydia noticed now that she was still in her own clothing, lying on an examination table instead of a hospital bed. Her head felt as if it was filled with sand, but otherwise, she didn't feel hurt at all, and she guessed that the doctors figured she just passed out from exhaustion and decided to give her a juice box. Maybe she hadn't even passed out in the first place. Maybe, she had blocked out a chunk of time because her brain couldn't handle the aftermath of what she had done, feeling the life fade from another living thing.

She noticed Peter still in the room, staring at his feet like he was bored.

"Why are you here?" Lydia asked, her voice a mere croak. She sat up to feel a little more dignified, even if her head was pounding like the worst of hangovers.

"I was just checking up," Peter said nonchalantly, scuffing the floor with his foot.

"Mm, _right_," Lydia said harshly, leaning her back against the wall and wincing when her head brushed against it.

She felt slightly offended that someone had sent Peter to watch over her, when everyone knew the toxic history between them. Was there anyone who still saw the bastard as a threat besides her?

She had to ask, even if it left a bad taste in her mouth to look to Peter for answers. "Where is everyone?"

"If you're asking about your little boyfriend - he's got a pretty bad head injury. The doctors are looking after him," Peter said, still not looking in her direction. Lydia's heart jolted, remembering the way Stiles' head was bleeding when she last saw him. She also vaguely wondered if it was just Peter's connection with her that allowed him to see her feelings for Stiles, or if it was just so blatantly obvious that no one was going to pretend anymore.

Peter continued with a deep breath. "As for everyone else, well, they had some things to take care of."

"The Darach?" Lydia asked, panicked. Her concern overpowered her reluctance to talk to Peter.

The werewolf made a hesitant noise. "Yes and no. It's_ dead- _definitely dead. The body's a different story."

"What happened to it?" Lydia asked impatiently.

"Nothing. That's the point," Peter said, and he finally moved from the corner and walked toward her with his arms crossed. "You'd expect it to disintegrate or disappear, but it's only rotting back at the motel. Scott, Derek and Isaac are trying to hide it."

"What about Allison? Deaton and Melissa?" Lydia asked, her heart beating a little faster at the thought of any of them being dead or hurt.

"They're fine. Melissa's here and Allison's visiting her dad to let him know what's going on. She'll be here soon," Peter explained, like he had rehearsed the lines.

Lydia was shocked at how willfully Peter gave up all this information, considering the mind games he played with her so many times before. Suddenly, he had become some kind of messenger for the group, and it made her want to laugh.

"And they left you here with me?" Lydia asked, not making any effort to keep the sour expression from her face.

Peter shrugged. "They don't know I'm here."

Lydia would have liked to ask why he _chose _to visit her, and she would have if she hadn't heard the familiar voice ringing through the hallways.

"I realize that, and I swear I'll let you do whatever you want if you just let me-"

And then his sneakers were squeaking across the floor as he came to a jerky stop in the doorway of her hospital room.

"You're awake," Stiles said quietly, like it was the most mesmerizing thing.

"You're awa- SHE'S AWAKE!" he screamed down the hospital hall, and Lydia closed her eyes and shook her head at his idiocy.

He made his way into the room hurriedly while a nurse clawed at the air behind him mumbling things half-heartedly to get him back to his own room. There was a gash on his forehead with two white bands holding it together. It looked rather gruesome and urgent, but the nurse gave up when Stiles was obviously not going to leave Lydia's side.

"Are you okay? How do you feel? Do you want me to get a nurse?" he asked, doing a strange kind of hover around her like he really wanted to be useful.

Lydia grumbled, trying to hide her smile. "I'm sure every nurse in the building heard you loud and clear."

"Why are you sitting up? You should lie down, Lydia-"

His gaze landed on Peter suddenly and he narrowed his eyes. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Peter raised his hands defensively. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately - probably because everyone knew he was a dick.

"I was just visiting," he placated, and then he pointed to the door and Stiles and Lydia watched as he left.

Lydia felt much more willing to let her walls down with Peter gone. He made her feel raw and irritatingly vulnerable, and it didn't mix well at all with Stiles' comforting presence.

"What's wrong with me?" she asked, quiet and cautious.

Stiles turned around to look at her again, looking over his shoulder once more as if to make sure Peter stayed gone. He moved toward her finally and laid his hand gently on hers, holding it in her lap. He shook his head, looking down at their hands. "I don't know. _Nobody _knows, actually."

"Well what's that supposed to mean?" Lydia asked, annoyed. She knew Stiles was probably just as much in the dark as she was, but she wanted _answers_.

Stiles looked back up at her, his expression slowly growing humorous as his eyes flicked back and forth on her face. He shrugged. "Supernatural damage."

His expression soothed her. She knew that if she really was in any immediate danger of dying, Stiles wouldn't look so relaxed. She scoffed and looked down with a small smile on her face. Her eyes then flickered up to the gash on his hairline that was still shining with fresh blood.

"Are you okay?" she asked, nodding toward it.

Stiles' eyes flicked upwards, like he'd be able to see the wound on his forehead and confirm what she was looking at. "That? It's nothing. Minor concussion."

Lydia raised her eyebrows. "Minor?"

"Just- it's fine, I promise," he said.

They were silent for a little while, and there was a look on Stiles' face that Lydia couldn't recognize.

"What? Stiles, what is it?" she asked urgently.

"I just...I mean, _Lydia. _You killed that thing. You were _so_..." he trailed off, shaking his head once again like he couldn't comprehend what he was saying.

Lydia licked her lips. "What? Scary? Look, Stiles, I don't know what that was-"

"No!" Stiles interrupted, looking up at her face now. "No, that's not what I meant. I was going to say you were brave. You were-"

Lydia shook her head. "I was angry. I wanted to kill it, and I acted on that."

"So?" Stiles asked and he gave a short laugh. "If anyone deserved to kill it, it was you."

"Is that what we do now?" Lydia asked, her voice reduced to a whisper. "Choose who's most _fitting _to kill someone?"

"This wasn't a _someone_, Lydia. Alright? This was a _something_," Stiles said softly. "A something that would have killed you and thousands of other people if you hadn't killed it."

Lydia closed her eyes and tried to swallow the ball in her throat. "Doesn't make it any better."

She knew Stiles was only trying to help, but she remembered how insane she had felt when she'd stabbed the Darach in the back. How bloodthirsty and _angry _she was.

She felt dirty and dehumanized, and she didn't have the right to hold the hand of a boy who was nothing _but _human. She pulled her hand out from under his and turned away from the look of hurt that she knew was on his face.

There was a moment of silence before Stiles spoke up again, quietly. "I'm going to stay here until you're better, okay?"

"Stiles-"

"Lydia, would you just-" Stiles made a flailing hand movement that basically told Lydia to shut up. She turned to him with wide-eyes, but he just stared right back at her unyieldingly.

She was so confused, and she didn't know why. She didn't have to be. This boy cared about her, she cared about him, and she couldn't think of any other times when she'd felt safer than the times he'd been around her. So why did she continuously analyze the little things that made their relationship unique? Why was she so hesitant to delve into a serious romance with this boy when she knew she'd be at her happiest if she was with him? If she _belonged _to someone in a way that didn't objectify her like Jackson did, or cause her to build up a facade to protect herself?

The shallow part her suspected that maybe she was stuck on the fact that this was still Stiles Stilinski. The same boy who never crossed her radar before the supernatural invaded her life. The same boy she would have been embarrassed to even cross in the hallway.

But that was then. She knew that wasn't the reason why. Stiles was a completely different boy to her now, who held a special place in her heart that she couldn't betray with shallow feelings of the past.

Maybe - and the thought was so absurd, it almost made her light-headed - she was only hesitant to be with Stiles, not because she was embarrassed of him or superior to him, but because she felt she didn't deserve him.

Stiles squeezed her hand just a little harder, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked to him, and his eyes were unfocused. She pushed her torso forward to help her hold him up while he sunk down a little, gripping the table she sat on.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he mumbled, resisting her grip around his torso. It was the kind of awkwardly angled hug that a young girl would give her father.

"You're not fine, Stiles," Lydia said, pulling back a little but not totally letting go.

Someone arrived in her doorway suddenly, breathing hard.

"Oh, thank God," Melissa said, collapsing against the doorframe with a relieved smile on her face.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, moving away from her grip and leaning against the table like nothing happened at all. Lydia gave him a furtive look before looking over to Melissa.

"Nothing," Melissa said happily, and she moved her gaze to Lydia. "I was just hoping you'd be awake. How are you feeling?"

Lydia gave her a small smile. "I'm fine."

"Good, that's good," she said, nodding her head wildly before her eyes snapped to Stiles and her voice went hard. "_You_ should be getting your head checked."

Stiles gave a very dramatic eye roll, somehow using his entire body to do so. "Okay, seriously, I'm-"

"You're _not _fine," Melissa interrupted, just as Lydia said "he's not fine."

Stiles looked incredulous as he looked back and forth between the two women.

"_Fine,_" Stiles said, exasperated. "Do your tests. But I'm coming right back here after, and no one is letting _Peter _back in here."

"You don't have to worry about any of that. Lydia's being released," Melissa said.

"What?" Lydia asked. "Already?"

"Why? Do you think you need to stay longer?" Melissa asked.

"No, I mean...I guess I just thought that thing might have killed me, and now I'm being released with nothing more than a headache," Lydia said, holding back a shudder at the memory of floating in the air while the Darach moved in on her.

Melissa looked sympathetic, but she shrugged. "I don't know, honey. They think you may have just passed out from lack of sleep."

Stiles gave a small, slightly hysterical laugh. "Yeah, that's it."

Lydia wanted to laugh as well. Everyone was so oblivious to what she and her group of friends go through every day, and they come up with the simplest excuses for the strange things happening right under their noses.

Melissa smiled at Stiles' remark, and then looked to Lydia with such kindness, Lydia could have cried right there."Do you want to stay with us for tonight, Lydia?"

_I'd like to stay with you forever, if that's okay, _Lydia wanted to say. But instead, she settled for a simple "that would be great, thank you."

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm not sure about you guys, but I really, really miss Teen Wolf. Already. Has it even been a week yet? I'm going crazy. In other news, I just wanted to let you all know that some of your reviews actually make tears spring into my eyes. You can never know how much your kind words mean to me, but I try to let you all know in the best way I possibly can. Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I actually thought about ending the story this chapter, but then I figured: we're on hiatus now, and there's so many more stydia scenes that I could add into this story. So I decided to keep going. I'm sure none of you are too disappointed about this. ;)  
So, how would you guys feel about another lighthearted chapter, perhaps involving funny, feelsy and maybe a little angsty moments between members of the whole pack (human and werewolf alike)? Maybe some more drunk scenes? Let me know if this sounds like something you would enjoy.**


	15. Semantics

**Author's Note:** **I kid you not, this was probably the hardest chapter to write so far, because it is just pure Stydia romance. And I have absolutely no personal experience with romanticism, sorry to say. But I tried really friggin hard with this chapter, and I made absolutely sure not to ruin the dynamic that I've had going between Lydia and Stiles, so please let me know what you think. It would make me feel a lot less nervous about the content of this chapter. Okay. All done. Enjoy!**

* * *

Lydia was released - not only from the hospital, but from her own personal hell. For so long, she'd been such a tightly-packed prison of anxiety and fear, she thought she'd spontaneously combust.

But the Darach was forever gone. She knew, as she lay down in a bed that was better than her own, that she was around friends now. However, she also knew that the danger in her life would never just _go away_, and that more horrors awaited her around the corner.

But maybe Lydia Martin just had to become the girl who lived in the _now_.

She fell asleep with that thought, using Scott McCall's bed to rest her pounding head. Her mind must have been on high alert, however, as she was awoken from her dreamless sleep by a gentle knock on the door downstairs.

That must have been Stiles. She wanted to know if his head was okay. She wanted to _see_ him. Jesus, she wanted to see him so bad. It had only been a few hours since their last conversation, except there was an intense yearning in her chest that said otherwise.

She had promised Melissa that she would sleep and regain her strength, and she wanted to, but there was so much going on that she didn't want to miss and so many people she wanted to talk to. How could she sit up here and rest?

So, naturally, her curiosity and stubbornness lifted her body from the bed and down the stairs wearing a long shirt and yoga shorts that she picked up from her house on the way here. She hardly made a sound on her way down the steps, hearing muffled voices coming from the kitchen. She paused on a step, listening in.

"She's fine. She's upstairs sleeping," Allison was saying softly.

"Is Melissa with her?" Stiles asked.

"She's sleeping in the room next to Lydia's. They're _safe_, Stiles. It's okay," Allison replied.

"I know," Stiles said, a little abruptly. "Yeah, I just...I wanted to make sure."

Allison must have nodded or something, since Lydia heard no response from her. Stiles spoke up once more.

"Okay, well, I'll meet you guys out there in a sec. I'm starving," Stiles said, and Lydia heard shuffling around the kitchen.

"Okay," Allison said, and Lydia could imagine her giving Stiles a small, comforting smile before hearing the door to the backyard open and close.

Stiles was alone down there now. She was so eager to walk into that kitchen and see his face again, but at the same time, her legs were like lead pipes. What could they possibly say to each other after all this? What did she want to say to him? What if he didn't want to see her just yet?

And she was so close to turning around and moving back up the stairs, but it seemed her longing for him was overwhelming her nerves and uncertainty. She couldn't do it. She had to see him, even just for a moment, before going back up to that bed and attempting to _rest. _

She moved down the rest of the stairs quietly, not making a sound. When her bare feet hit the cold floor, she saw Stiles leaning over a kitchen counter, his shoulder blades pronounced beneath his shirt. His palms were placed firmly on the counter top, like his was trying to control himself.

She walked toward him slowly, but the floor creaked beneath her feet and Stiles whirled around, grabbing a fucking _kitchen knife _on the way around and Lydia was suddenly wondering if he lived the double-life of a ninja.

"Stiles!" she yelled, startled. She threw her hands up in surrender as Stiles held out his knife hand toward her with a kind of crazed look on his face.

His shoulders visibly slouched as he took in her form, and he dropped the knife to his side. "Jesus," he breathed.

"That was a bit over the top, don't you think?" Lydia asked quietly, lowering her hands slowly and walking closer to him.

"After all the shit that's hit the fan in the past 24 hours? I don't think so," Stiles said, craning his torso around the drop the knife back in its holder. "Why are you up, anyways?"

"I could ask you the same," Lydia challenged. "I'm guessing no one actually gave you _permission _to leave the hospital?"

Stiles shrugged, leaning back against the counter. "They did. Sort of. Not _expressively_-"

Apparently Lydia's eye rolls seemed to have the power to cut people off mid-sentence. She crossed her arms, feeling slightly vulnerable and cold in her tiny shorts.

"Hey, listen, at the hospital...I didn't mean to-"

Lydia didn't care what he was going to say, as she stared at him and suddenly she had to rush over to him and throw her arms around him and bury her face in his chest. She held him so tightly, and she didn't know why she kept letting herself become so overwhelmed by these urges and feelings around him, but he hugged her back and she felt his lips pressing on the top of her head and that made her _ache- _

Her eyes were wet and there was an uncomfortable lump in her throat as Stiles squeezed her to him, one hand on the back of her neck and the other rubbing circles on her lower back. If Lydia were ever to have an existential crisis, she was sure Stiles would be the cause, because there was something so extremely abnormal about the way she felt with him that she wasn't sure she was really even there. He was vibrating with life and comfort and she knew everything about him and at the same time she knew nothing about him at all. This boy was just human, and vulnerable, and so extremely subjected to death and injury that it scared the life out of her and made her sag into his chest a little more.

She loved him. She s_o _loved him and that was such a strange thing to admit because she'd said that to Jackson too and it felt _nothing _like this. It didn't _hurt _this much. And it made no sense because how could this boy be so sarcastic and spastic all the time and still hold her like this and make her feel like she and him were the only thing that really existed on this rock floating around in space?

She loved him. Did she? Is this what it felt like because it kind of felt like her chest was about to explode and she wasn't really sure if it was _pleasant-_

"I love you," Lydia whispered, testing the words out on her tongue, but they didn't sound uncertain. She said it ever so quietly against his shirt. She could feel him tense, his hand frozen on her back, and she looked up at him, knowing her eyes were pathetically wide and wet. He looked down at her, and his eyes were huge as well, shocked and almost pained like the words she'd spoken were a blow to the stomach. His expression was changing so fast, she couldn't keep track of every emotion there. He moved his mouth, open and closed, like there were absolutely no words to respond to that.

"Yeah?" Stiles said, his voice a mere croak. It was such a Stiles thing to say that she grinned and was reminded that this boy claimed to have loved her for a while, and so she was shocked when she might have had an inkling of a doubt that he loved her more than she loved him. Surely his chest wasn't aching as badly as hers. Maybe they loved each other the same. Maybe they didn't love each other at all and they were just being stupid. Or maybe she shouldn't care because love was an overrated word anyways and she wasn't sure it was enough to represent whatever the hell was going on inside of her just then.

"Yeah," Lydia whispered with a zest that she couldn't control, and she pressed her lips against his. She couldn't help smiling against his mouth, and it had been so long since she truly smiled like that, she thought her face might be cracking in two.

She pushed him further into the counter and it seemed Stiles wasn't quite sure what to do with his hands, like he wanted to touch her everywhere. She, however, found herself satisfied with stroking her hands along the back of his head and neck, letting him know that she was _there _and she meant what she said.

It was good. It was _so _good, she felt faint because she wasn't sure a person should feel so many emotions at once. Stiles' heart was racing when she moved her hand down to his chest and thought about pulling away to breathe for a moment but breathing was overrated too and kissing Stiles was a lot better. Lydia knew Stiles wasn't the best kisser she'd ever experienced, but it sure felt that way considering he was the only one who showed true passion in kissing her and not just the animalistic lust she was used to.

She wished she could stop thinking altogether for just a few moments but Stiles had flipped her around so that her back was pressed against the counter now and he was leaning over her, and he made some kind of longing moaning noise that she totally understood. She bit his lip to let him know.

And then they pulled away, unfortunately, breathing heavy like they'd just run a few marathons.

Stiles gave a breathy laugh and moved his face into her collarbone, taking her in.

"I'd have sex with you _right now_," Lydia commented between breaths, "but Melissa's upstairs and I'm a little sleep deprived."

"Yeah," Stiles said, his hot breaths on the skin of her neck. She closed her eyes at the feeling. "No rush."

"You sure?" Lydia asked, trying to suppress a smile because his tone just screamed bullshit.

"No," Stiles said, nuzzling his head under her jaw before pulling back to look her in the eye. "But I get it. It's cool."

She could feel the air around them simmering down a little as she watched Stiles swallow, trying to calm himself down.

"Cool," Lydia said, her eyes moving back and forth across his face and it was ridiculous how much they both wanted each other right now and how fucking hard it was not to just do it right there on the kitchen floor.

"You should, uh," Stiles started, swallowing again and not moving his eyes from her face. "You should go back to bed."

He sounded like he was her father or something and it was doing a great job at killing the mood, which she figured was the goal here. They had to kill the mood. There was really no way they could do what they wanted to do right now.

"Yeah," Lydia agreed, nodding her head and letting her eyes flick up and down his body just for a second. "I'll uh-"

She didn't quite know what to say, and so she began walking passed him and toward the stairs when he grabbed her arm like in some cliched romance movie.

"Lydia, you know..." Stiles started, but the words got caught in his throat the moment she faced him again. He looked down, and Lydia waited until he looked back up again with pain in his eyes. "You know I love you, right? You know that. And I just- you know, I wanna make sure-"

"Stiles," Lydia started, but Stiles shook his head.

"No, just listen," Stiles said, and she was almost startled at how insistent he was that she hear him out. She figured, maybe the words _I love you_ meant so much more to him than they did to her because he had classified every feeling he had for her under those three words, and how could Lydia even begin to understand what it felt like to have such powerful feelings all summed up into one? She had only told him she loved him because what else could she have possibly said? It felt right. She didn't quite know what it meant, but she had to say it.

But Stiles...Stiles knew what it meant to him. And he was trying to convey that to her.

"You just have to _know_," Stiles continued. "You have to know that."

"I do know," Lydia said, making sure that every word she spoke right now was engraved in his mind because she knew how vulnerable he must feel saying the words he was trying to say. She moved closer to him and cradled the side of his face with her hand, moving her thumb along his hairline where his forehead was bandaged. "We don't have to stand here arguing about semantics for the rest of our lives, okay? I already know."

Stiles looked up at her again, as he seemed to have bowed his head against her touch. He stared at her for a moment before nodding once. She knew he wasn't satisfied with her answer, and there were so many things going on in his mind at that moment that she couldn't understand just yet.

But he let her walk away from him, back up the stairs and into bed, and that was where she stayed. Feeling restless, she thought of Stiles until her thoughts were just chasing each other round and round in her head and finally, she faded into a well-needed sleep.


	16. Torture

Fortunately, there was no headline in the papers or on the television that claimed that a body was found, even 48 hours after the ambush. Scott promised that he and the others had most definitely incinerated the remains of the Darach, and Lydia wasn't going to doubt his word. Scott McCall had far too many responsibilities to make a mistake like forgetting to completely destroy an enemy's remains, as they'd all learned that nothing was ever truly dead in the supernatural world unless they didn't have a body to come back to.

Lydia was trying to cut up an apple into little slices one morning, two days after she'd confessed her love to Stiles, and she found she couldn't do it. Her arm was hovering, knife in hand, over the cutting board. She couldn't do it. She knew it was ridiculous, but somehow even the hilt of the knife in her hand brought her back to Motel Glen Capri, and she remembered the rage she felt while she ground that knife into the Darach's back-

She dropped the knife like it had scalded her, and she stared at her apple for a full two minutes. Maybe she'd just have to eat it whole at lunch that day.

She tucked the apple incident to the back of her mind when she arrived at school that morning. She was rested, rejuvenated, and ready to go back to her education (which, she had to remind herself, would actually be important one day.)

When she had left the McCall house after the most beautiful sleep of her life, she had her hands full with mother-daughter moments once her mom got back from Canada. Thus, she hadn't seen or spoken to Stiles since their little scene in the McCall kitchen. That was another reason why she would tuck the apple incident to the back of her mind that day, because she wanted to see what had become of Stiles since then.

She wasn't sure why she was so caught up on the idea that he would be changed. Different. Not in a good way nor in a bad way, but just..._different. _She almost laughed at herself for being so big-headed, like a confession of love from Lydia Martin would change a man for the rest of his life.

Pathetic, really. She should have realized by now that she was no longer such an angel to Stiles, or to anyone. She was no longer worthy of a title that suggested she was common knowledge and everything above ordinary.

_The _Lydia Martin. That was what she used to be at Beacon Hills High.

How things have changed. She wasn't sure if she could really miss the life she left behind, and it was so cliche to think of it that way, to think she was shedding a skin and starting afresh. But she knew that that was exactly what had happened when she walked into Beacon Hills without giving even an inkling of thought to her cleavage.

The first bell hadn't rung yet, and she was hoping to visit Stiles at his locker and maybe just dive in and give him a kiss for god's sake because how long were they going to keep the act up? But Stiles wasn't at his locker. And when she passed by his first class, she saw that students were waiting outside to be welcomed in. Through the small window on the door, she saw Stiles half-leaning, half-sitting on a desk and nodding at someone she couldn't see at a distance. She guessed it was his teacher.

Stiles looked disappointed as he looked down at a paper that the teacher seemed to have handed to him. He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, nodding solemnly at the paper. She watched as the teacher came into view, moving to put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, but Stiles stood up and was already making his way toward the door, giving the teacher a cordial smile and halfhearted hand gesture that said _thanks. _

Lydia waited for him to leave the room and watched as he crumpled up the paper in his hand and pocketed it, pushing a hand through his hair as the bell rang.

"Stiles," she called, catching his attention before he almost strode right past her without even realizing she was there. He stopped, and she saw how sad and incredibly stressed he was, before his face morphed into a warm smile for her sake.

Lydia moved closer to him as the kids behind him piled into their classroom. "What is it? What happened?"

Stiles closed his eyes momentarily and shook his head, signaling that he didn't want to talk about it. Lydia persisted just a little more as he began walking down the hall with her.

"Stiles, come on. What happened?" Lydia asked again, looking up at his tired face.

He sighed, and didn't look her directly in the eye when he answered. "I'm getting a D in math," he said, and sighed once more before he continued. "And I'm failing biology."

Lydia grabbed his arm and stopped him in the hallway, wanting him to look at her. "What? How? They must have made a mistake-"

"No, there's no mistake, Lydia. I didn't fill in half the questions on the last biology test," Stiles said.

Lydia shook her head and furrowed her eyebrows at him, uncomprehending. Stiles was so smart, she knew that now. There was no way he wouldn't understand such basic biology. But she slowly came to realize, as she stared into his worn and weary face, that _understanding _wasn't the problem. This had nothing to do with his intelligence.

A few students were still bustling around them, the traffic in the hallways only beginning to thin out. Lydia felt herself straighten, realization dawning on her. Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "You're not sleeping, are you?"

Stiles looked defeated, like he had really been hoping she wouldn't ask him that. "Lydia-" Stiles started, but he had to turn away from her and run a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh.

Lydia grabbed his arm, kneading the skin with her thumb. "Stiles, you can't keep going on like this, you know that? You have to take care of yourself."

"It's not a _choice_, Lydia. I mean, it's- it's just-" Stiles stumbled over his words, obviously disgruntled as he couldn't find the right thing to say.

"It's what?" she asked, soft but insistent, her eyes flicking back and forth between his.

"It's-" Stiles started, his voice breaking. He looked her straight in the eye, and Lydia's breath hitched in her throat at the emotion swimming around in them. When he spoke again, it was quiet, like no one else in the world could ever hear what he was about to say. "It's torture."

And if only she could begin to understand what his definition of torture was. The way he said it made her heart jump a little, and she didn't know what to say and felt horrible for just staring at him after he told her something like that. The fact that he was so clearly ashamed to say it made her throat tighten, and she opened her mouth to say _something _but even the genius voice inside her head fell flat at a response.

"Listen I gotta...I gotta go to class so I'll see you around," Stiles said, taking a deep breath before squeezing Lydia on the arm and disappearing down the hallway.

And just like that, the well-rested and rejuvenated Lydia that had just entered the school had crumbled. Was that what she and Stiles shared all along? A heightened sense of empathy that caused them to feel each other's pain? But no, that couldn't be it, because Lydia had no idea what was going on in Stiles' mind.

So, it was an utterly debilitating _sym_pathetic connection that she shared with Stiles. She didn't understand what Stiles was feeling, but it affected her in ways that seemed to crush her mood, and her heart along with it.

That couldn't be healthy, could it? She'd never felt so personally put down by someone else's torment. Maybe she needed...

A girls' day. She needed a girls' day. That was the first thought that popped into her mind, and that was what she was going to go for. She felt extremely pathetic standing in the middle of an empty hallway; like each of her limbs was being pulled every which way until eventually she'd be quartered. She wanted to help everyone and she wanted everyone to help her and what better way to help herself than a day out with Allison?

That's what she would do.

She pulled out her phone and sent a text to her best friend.

"Hey, Lydia, what is it? What's wrong?" Allison asked as she jogged toward Lydia, meeting her out in the parking lot of the school.

"Nothing's wrong," Lydia said, trying to look confused at Allison's question. "I was bored, I thought we'd skip school for the day."

Allison gave her a look that withered Lydia where she stood. She wasn't sure when the girl had developed the power to do that, but Lydia had become irritatingly susceptible to it. Lydia sighed, defeated.

"I just really, _really _need to spend some time with you," Lydia said poignantly.

Allison's brow furrowed. "Did something happen, Lydia?"

"No," Lydia said, defensive. She hesitated a moment before sagging and saying, "Yes. I think so. Sort of."

Jesus, how much time had she been spending with Stiles? His words and mannerisms were sneaking into her mind and making her feel a whole lot worse just thinking about him.

Allison gave Lydia a small smile and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's go. _Just _for today, okay? We've skipped enough class."

And then they were off, taking Allison's car to the nearest coffee shop which Lydia had decided not to argue, because stuffing her face with a nice fatty drink felt like a nice plan right about now.

"So, is it Stiles?" Allison asked suddenly once they were settled at a table with their cappuccinos. Lydia's eyes widened, and she acted on her first instinct to defend herself against such a question.

"Is what Stiles?" she asked, stalling for no apparent reason.

"God, Lydia," Allison said the moment she swallowed a sip of her drink. "Everybody knows. You can drop it."

Lydia ground the heels of her hands into her forehead and made a frustrated noise. "It's Stiles," she confirmed.

Allison put a hand on Lydia's back and leaned in close, but Lydia was still covering her face with her hands. "Lydia, you guys have been through a lot. It's totally normal if he's acting weird-"

Lydia sat up at that, looking at Allison. "He's not acting weird," she said, but Allison looked skeptical.

"He's not!" She said again. "He told me what was wrong."

And at saying those words, Lydia realized what she was doing. Talking about Stiles' problems with someone else when it had already been an obvious effort on his behalf to even tell _her_. It was wrong. What was she doing? She trusted Allison with her life, but she knew for a fact that she wouldn't appreciate Stiles spilling all of _her _problems to Scott.

"So what is it?" Allison pressed on.

Lydia must have looked like a deer in headlights. Soon, her eyes were flicking from the drink in her hands, to Allison's face, to the wall behind her.

"I-I can't say," she replied.

"Lydia, if there's anyone who knows a thing or two about relationship problems, it's me," Allison encouraged.

_Relationship problems. _This was so far beyond relationship problems, but she wasn't going to freak out and run out of the coffee shop at the words. Allison wanted to help, she knew that. She skipped class for her. She was persistent in helping Lydia get over whatever was bothering her, and Lydia would be stupid to just run away and leave a friend like that behind.

"It's not," Lydia said, and Allison waited patiently for her to elaborate. Lydia shook her head. "It's not relationship problems. And I'm sorry, but I can't tell you what it is."

At that, Allison looked understanding, nodding her head. Lydia hesitated, but continued.

"But I just...I don't know how to help him. I can't help anyone," Lydia said softly, looking away from Allison.

She wasn't having a go at self-pity. She wasn't. Lydia wouldn't do self-pity, not yet - not after what Stiles had just told her. He was at _school _right now, pressing on, doing his best to get through whatever it was that was going on inside of him. If she sat here in a coffee shop feeling bad for herself while he was still fighting, it would be confirmation that she _was_, in fact, the coward she always feared to be. And it would let her down beyond absolution. It would let _Stiles _down beyond forgiveness.

Yet, somehow, Lydia didn't interrupt Allison when she protested what Lydia had just said. She just needed to hear it. She needed _someone _to remind her that she was worth something.

"Lydia, you know that's not true. Because you killed something that would have destroyed our entire _town_, and if that doesn't count as helping people to you, then you're a little delusional," Allison said with a small smile.

Lydia gave a short laugh, picking at a chip in their table.

"And, _also_," Allison continued, waiting for Lydia to look at her. "If there's anyone who can help Stiles, I have no doubt that it would be you. You saved his life once before, didn't you? Twice, even?"

"Probably four or five times actually," Lydia responded, looking up at the ceiling and pursing her lips in thought. Allison laughed.

There was a moment of silence before Allison shoved Lydia's shoulder playfully.

"See?" she said softly. "He'll be fine. Just as long as you stick with him, okay? And I mean, really watch out for him, Lydia."

Lydia's brow furrowed as she looked to her best friend. "Why do you say it like that?"

Allison looked hesitant, but she sighed, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Scott didn't really give me too many details. We were talking, that night you were sleeping upstairs in his house, and it just kind of slipped out." She sighed again before continuing. "He says Stiles can get 'bad', and that he was worried for him. I don't know what that means, and I didn't push him when he told me, but the way he said it...it just makes me think you really have to stick by him, okay? For him, and for Scott, because Scott can't watch out for him all the time, and I really...I think that's killing him a little."

Lydia licked her lips, her mouth parting ever so slightly. There was no doubt Lydia would look after Stiles - after all, his safety had been on her list of top concerns for the past two weeks, and she felt she couldn't just drop that protectiveness that had become an instinct to her. But Allison's words had put more pressure on her shoulders, leaving her mouth dry and her heart heavy.

But Stiles had always been there for her, saving her life and saving her sanity without expecting anything in return, and she'd be damned if she was going to sit there and watch him fall apart.

* * *

**Author's Note: Reading your reviews, I noticed that lots of you really loved a vulnerable Stiles and a worried Lydia, and I thought it was appropriate to bring them back in the aftermath of all that's happened. Plus, I've been craving a nice Lydia/Allison scene for a while now, so I hope you liked their little moments in this chapter.  
I couldn't ****_believe _****the response I got on my last chapter, with the romance and all that jazz. Thank you all so much, I got goosebumps reading some of your comments. I'm getting emotional. Stay tuned for the next chapter. **


	17. Sleep: The Final Chapter

**Author's Note: You may have noticed that the word count in this chapter is a little longer than the other chapters, and maybe you've guessed why. This is the ending, folks. I will have a huge and emotional Author's Note at the end of this chapter to really sum this up, but for now, I hope with all my heart that you enjoy the final chapter of this story as much as I loved writing it. Also, if any of you would like to know the incredibly emotional and powerful song I used to write these final words, it's called Switzerland by Daughter.**

* * *

Allison had dropped Lydia off at the school after their little girls' hang out - which Lydia had found extremely refreshing and therapeutic - with only a few minutes to spare before students were to come piling out of the building.

She had no idea what she was doing if she was being truthful to herself. She didn't know what she would say to Stiles, only that she would help him _today - _before the awful darkness inside of him swallowed him whole. And she wouldn't let him do that "I have to go" bullshit before he turned his back on her and ran away like nothing was wrong.

Not today.

And she had felt quite confident in those few minutes that she stood outside the school with her arms crossed, staring at the doors with unbreakable determination. But when the bell rang and she waited for the familiar duo to make their way out the doors, her heart sank when her eyes were greeted with only _one _boy. The wrong one.

When Scott made his way down the front steps, Lydia blocked his way before he could step into the parking lot. His nose was buried in his phone, and he bumped right into her.

"What the-" he began, looking up from his phone and stumbling back, his backpack sliding down his arm. "Lydia."

"Scott," she said dismissively, standing on her tippy toes to look over Scott's shoulder as if Stiles would materialize behind him. She looked back to Scott and splayed out her hands, raising her eyebrows at the werewolf. "Where's Stiles?"

"He uh," Scott began, hiking his bag back on to his shoulder and shoving his phone in his pocket. "He got called out of class."

"Why?" Lydia asked.

"If it was serious, he would've told me," Scott said, but Lydia wasn't so sure about that. Stiles didn't seem like he would want to talk to anybody right now even if he knew he was staring into the face of death.

"Well, do you know where he's going at least?" Lydia asked, impatience drawing a thin disguise over the worry in her voice.

"Like I said..." Scott trailed off, shrugging.

Lydia nodded her head slowly, looking around as if she still had some hope that Stiles would appear. She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, well...thanks."

"Yeah, sure," Scott said kindly. Lydia turned to leave, but Scott grabbed her arm.

"Lydia, you know he'll be okay, right?" Scott said.

He was trying to reassure her, and yet the look in his eyes suggested that he was the one who wanted reassurance. Lydia wasn't sure if she could give him that just yet, as much as she wanted to believe otherwise.

But a hopeful lie was a lot better than the truth at this point.

She gave him a tight-lipped smile and a small nod. "Yeah. He'll be fine."

* * *

She arrived home just as the sun sank beneath the horizon. She was occupying herself with looking everywhere that Stiles might be, and then going on pointless errands to keep her mind off of calling him again.

She lost count of how many times she'd called Stiles since her encounter with Scott after school. And the more she called him, the more she felt like a clingy and overprotective mother.

Stiles could take care of himself. Or, at least, that was what she was supposed to think, but Allison's words at the coffee shop had said otherwise, and Lydia had to act on the small chance that there was a part of Stiles that really _couldn't _take care of himself. The self-destructive part of him - the part that was slowly taking over him.

And she wanted to slap herself in the face because she was so _done _with trying to justify her protectiveness toward Stiles, even to herself, and it was time for that stupid, shallow and analytical part of her brain to just shut up and realize that. Lydia Martin, who'd always trusted her brain rather than her gut - with the harshest collateral damage imaginable - was going to let her heart decide for once.

After her short encounter with Scott, she had entered her home with her phone still in hand. The device had almost become an extra appendage on her, and soon she didn't even realize she was still holding it.

Unbelievably, her mom had already started nagging on her before she even slid her shoes off.

"Lydia? Is that you?" her mother called when Lydia shut the door behind her.

"Yes, mom," Lydia deadpanned. Who the hell else would it be?

"Listen, honey, I need you to go back out and get some milk," her mom continued. "It's been a long day, and I've already poured my wine."

Lydia gave an irritated sigh. "Do we _really _need milk right now, mom? I was considering going on a dairy-free diet anyways."

"Lydia," her mom warned. They were still having their conversation by yelling across the house, but it wasn't hard to imagine her mom laying her feet up on her ottoman with her glass of wine and watching her cheesy soap opera.

"Fine," Lydia sighed, turning around on her heel dramatically and opening the door once more.

She stood in her drive way, hand on the door handle of her car. She spared a moment to glance at her phone once more, even though the volume was full blast and if Stiles tried to call or text, there was no possible way that she could miss it.

She leaned her forehead against her car window, her breath fogging up the glass.

The only comfort she had right now was that the Sheriff was nowhere to be found either. Meaning, there was a great possibility that he was with his son, and if something happened to them, at least they were together.

But that was stupid. Nothing happened to them. And she knew that she should be coming up with rational possibilities of where they could be right now, but instead, her judgment was absolutely clouded by the gruesome, the terrifying and the supernatural.

She couldn't cut an apple anymore for god's sake.

She closed her eyes for a moment, calming herself before stepping into her car and driving off.

Lydia was in such a state of undoing that she didn't even realize her car was blasting some awful metal music in her ears, and when she finally changed the station, she was sure she was partially deaf. She tried to concentrate on getting to the convenience store, picking up a bag of milk and driving straight back home to continue staring at the glowing screen of her mobile.

But then came along the squirrel.

It was the biggest squirrel she'd ever seen, so it managed to grab her attention when it ran right in front of her car and caused her to swerve to the side of the road in order to _not_ be the cause of death of another living thing ever again.

Lydia had pulled over to the side of the road, right in front of a playground fit with a tennis court. She put her head on the steering wheel and laughed at herself for a few moments before leaning back and taking a deep breath, staring out the driver's side window.

She noticed the tennis court was lit up, florescent lights shining down on someone moving around in the court. It was about 300 meters away, passed the park. She squinted, and perhaps she was being delusional, but she figured she'd spent enough time with Stiles Stilinski to recognize his silhouette. That _must_ have been him.

"Stiles," she breathed, pushing her car door open and stepping onto shaking limbs. She fast-walked through the playground rather ungracefully, staring at the tennis court ahead. The closer she got, the surer she became that it was, indeed, Stiles who was hitting balls around aggressively.

"Stiles!" she called, unlocking the gate. He hit one more ball with his tennis racket, and it flew across the net and hit the other side of the court's fence. He turned to face her, and she saw the sweat shining on his face in the light of the court.

"Lydia?" he asked, his breathing labored.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and Stiles gave a short laugh.

"Jesus, I'm starting to think you put a tracking device in my shoe when I wasn't looking," Stiles commented, turning back to pick up one of the many balls scattered around the court.

"Stiles," Lydia said solemnly. She moved toward him as he walked back to his spot with the ball. "Why are you here?"

Stiles froze in his steps and held out the racket and the ball. "I'm playing tennis."

Lydia stepped forward cautiously, and spoke with a furtiveness she wished she could hide. "No, you're not."

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned around to hit another ball, hard and angry. "Lydia, what do you _want_?"

Her mouth fell open slightly, and she couldn't prevent the wrinkle in her brow at his words. She spoke quietly. "I've been looking for you all day."

"Well, you found me," Stiles said flippantly, still not looking at her.

Okay. Lydia still wasn't sure what Scott meant by Stiles becoming 'bad' in hard situations, but the boy she was looking at right now was not who she knew Stiles to be. She let her brain go through the motions of deciding how to act toward him right now, but she came up empty-handed. She didn't know what was happening to him right now, but there was a feeling in her stomach that told her it was the few moments before the climax of something hideous.

When she spoke, her voice came out harder this time. "Why were you called out of class today?"

Stiles let the racket fall to his side and he rolled his neck before turning around to face her. She looked at him closely now, and the shadows under his eyes were so deep and so intense, it looked as if he'd been victim to a bad makeup artist. She hoped maybe that the madness and delirium weighing down on his face was only being intensified by the light of the tennis court and the sweat on his body.

"My dad decided it was time to pick me up some drugs," Stiles replied.

"Sleeping pills?" Lydia asked.

Stiles made his fingers look like a gun and pointed it at her, like a game show host would do to a contestant when they got the answer right. He turned on his heel and hit yet another ball, and Lydia found herself flinching at the harsh sound of racket hitting rubber.

"You shouldn't be doing this right now, Stiles. You're exhausting yourself," Lydia said, moving forward a little more. She found she had her hands held out in a placating manner, like she was approaching a wild animal.

Stiles sighed and put his head down for a moment before looking back up to stare at the ball in his hand. "That's the point, Lydia."

"You know that's not how it works," Lydia continued. "You're not going to fall asleep, Stiles, you're going to end up in the hospital."

He wasn't listening to her, though, and she had a feeling that he wasn't just trying to make himself tired by hitting all these balls. He was doing it to relieve his anger.

She also knew that it probably wasn't working.

"Stiles, would you just listen to me for a second?" she said, louder this time. She stepped in front of him, right into his line of sight.

He closed his eyes and sighed, stepping back. "Could you just...just leave me alone? Please?"

Lydia sucked in her bottom lip and shook her head sadly. "You know I can't do that."

She was breaking through the anger and defeat that was plaguing him right now, bringing down his final walls until _maybe..._maybe he would finally open up.

"You can't be around me right now," Stiles warned.

"Don't give me that, Stiles," Lydia said, stepping closer to him until her breath was brushing his face. "Don't."

"I don't know what you're trying to do-"

"You know _exactly _what I'm trying to do. You _know _me, Stiles - you've always said so. So don't act like you think your mental health is just another inconsequential thing to me. You can't do that to me."

Stiles looked scared now, his eyes looking less vacant and angry.

He shook his head slowly, only managing to speak in a whisper. "I can fix this."

"No, you can't," Lydia said simply, grabbing his wrists. She looked him dead in the eye, silently pleading with him. She shook her head, insistent. "You can't."

His eyes were flicking back and forth between hers, and she watched his face slowly twisting into something pained and worn and hard to look at so close. "I can try."

"But you don't have to," she said softly, reaching up to stroke his cheekbone with her thumb.

That was it. Lydia watched, almost mesmerized as Stiles closed his eyes against her touch and a tear fell, sliding over her thumb. She silently wondered if that was the first time he'd let himself cry since they'd gotten themselves into this mess, or if it was only the first time she'd actually seen it.

But something told her that even in the confines of his bedroom, Stiles kept himself sealed, like the walls themselves would judge him.

"Come on," Lydia said quietly, pulling at Stiles wrist, and he let himself collapse to the ground with her.

She kept him close, looking at his profile. She would be patient with him now, and she waited as he stared off ahead of him, more tears forming in his eyes. She felt as if she couldn't get close enough, like something was widening between them and she was still running to keep him in sight. But she tried her best, holding him, keeping one hand around his abdomen to steady him and another on the back of his head to comfort him.

For a moment, it was hard to remember that he was so much taller than her - that sometimes he could look so big in her eyes that he blocked out everything else around them. But now, he was small, and soon they would be equals again but for now she would keep herself wrapped around him, whispering soothing words into his ear.

Lydia kissed his temple and moved to hug him now, and he buried his face in her shoulder, and let out a sob. She held him tight, letting him cry.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against the painful lump in her throat as he wrapped his hand into the material of her shirt, holding her like she was the only thing left for him, and she thought that that action in itself would add another burden to her back.

But instead, she had to smile, because for so long he had been pushing her away and it was the most heart-warming feeling in the world to have him let her in.

He pulled back a little bit, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder instead. His breath came in shutters.

"I miss my mom," he whispered.

The words, and the way he said them like something shattered inside him, sent goose bumps along her arms. She pushed him back gently to look at him, but he was looking at his knees, his forehead furrowed in pain.

She waited for him to look up at her, and when he did, she nodded. She wouldn't tell him that _she knows _because that wasn't what he wanted to hear. But she gave him the reassurance that he could go on, that she accepted him and she understood.

"And I'm..." he whispered again, trying to swallow."I'm tired."

He took a deep, trembling breath. His mouth was being pulled down at the corners, keeping him from crying. "I'm so tired."

She moved to his side and pulled him in again, rubbing circles on his back and pressing her ear to his shoulder.

"Where do you want to go?" Lydia whispered after a while.

"Home," Stiles replied, his voice not entirely whole again.

"I can take you back there," Lydia said.

She felt Stiles tense a little at that, and she looked up at him. He was looking down at her face with wide eyes. "Stay with me. Please."

Lydia pushed a hand through his hair and gave him a smile that sprang tears to her eyes. "Okay."

* * *

She had taken him home. The Sheriff had been prepared with questions and concerns, asking what was wrong and what had happened and where Stiles had gone but Lydia told him she would explain. And she would. But the Sheriff needed to understand that right now, she needed to be with Stiles if he was ever going to be alright again.

And, eventually, the Sheriff had nodded, his eyes worn and worried as he looked at his son. Lydia gave him a reassuring smile and she walked with Stiles up the stairs to his room.

"It's okay, just sit down," Lydia said softly, shutting the door behind them.

And Stiles did, walking to his bed looking more like a zombie by the second. His body was swaying slightly as he sat on his bed. Lydia did the same.

She sat beside him, and bit her lip in concern, wrapping her arm around his back.

"You okay?" she asked quietly. She knew the answer was no, of course, but Stiles understood. He was fine, for now.

He nodded, and Lydia's heart lurched when his blinking became heavier. He was going to sleep now, she knew it.

He must have known it too, because he squeezed her knee before lying down on his bed and she followed, curling up next to him. They didn't need the covers, they didn't need pajamas, they didn't need anything but each other right now, and that was fine by her.

"Lydia," Stiles said after a while, half-conscious.

"Yeah?"

"Will you come visit my mom with me tomorrow?"

Lydia felt like her heart had been lit on fire. Her eyes searched the back of his head before she gave a watery laugh and a tear slid from her eye and onto the pillow beneath her.

"Yeah, Stiles," she answered. "Of course."

It had started with a dark figure looming in her bedroom, and it ended with her killing it. That was what any bystander could say about the last two weeks or so that would surely be the most traumatizing days of Lydia's life.

But, in truth and in depth, it was so much more than that. The dark figure she'd seen and dreamt about wasn't just the Darach - it was a nightmare that she had gradually passed on to Stiles. A nightmare that she and him had lived through and conquered together, but that would still linger in their minds and keep them as casualties.

They could be boyfriend-girlfriend. They could have sex. They could get married for god's sake because Lydia knew that whatever society deemed them to be, it wouldn't change the fact that Lydia had fought off monsters - real and figment alike - with this boy. It wouldn't change the fact that fate had sent them a squirrel to run across the road, just so they could find each other again.

And a realization came to Lydia when Stiles fell asleep beside her with the lights still on and his shoes still on his feet. After what seemed like a century of wondering and questioning _what _they were and _how _they felt, Lydia knew now that what they had really wasn't as complex as they made it out to be.

It was love, but it was a love that they'd labeled with their own definition. That they were each others' shelter. That they would keep each other as safe and stable as they could and hang on as close as their bodies allowed. That they brought out the best and worst of each other and accepted it all the same.

So, yes, they were casualties. They were horribly damaged and disturbed casualties.

But for once, that was okay. At least they would be casualties together.

* * *

**Author's Note: There are no words to describe what it's like ending a story this long. This came to a grand total of 103 Microsoft word pages (the longest thing I've ever written) and I must have rewritten and reviewed these last few paragraphs a hundred thousand times, so if you really didn't like it, just know that there was no lack of effort and care put into it. Though I really hope you did like it, because your satisfaction means the world to me after everything you've said to me down there in that little Reviews box. My gratitude is endless. I know there is such thing as disappointment out there, but trust me when I say that this was most definitely the right place to end this story. I know it.**

**So thank you all so much, for everything, and if you'd ever like to chat about anything (or to let me know what you thought of the final chapter), just hit me up in the Reviews or PM box. I will have so much more Stydia for you soon enough, so don't say goodbye to me just yet! I love you all. **

**- Alex**


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